'< 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 


GRENSTONE  POEMS 


BY   WITTER   BYNNER 


YOUNG  HARVARD 
AND  OTHER  POEMS 

TIGER 

THE  LITTLE  KING 
THE  NEW  WORLD 
IPHIGENIA  IN  TAURIS 
GRENSTONE  POEMS 


GRENSTONE  POEMS 

A  SEQUENCE 

BY 

WITTER    BYNNER 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  NEW  WORLD,"  ETC. 


NEW  YORK 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1917,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 


All  rights  reserved 


3 


w 
ri 


TO 

HANIEL  LONG 

HER  FRIEND  AND  MINE 
IN  GRENSTONE 


M  f~^***J  <~ 

4871 

ENGLISH 


CONTENTS 

A  GRACE  BEFORE  THE  POEMS 
I.  GRENSTONE 

/.  ON  THE  WAY  TO  GRENSTONE 

How  could  I  guess  what  difference  was  in  store — 
/  who  had  never  really  loved  before? 

BIRTHRIGHT 5 

FOREIGN  HILLS 6 

HILLS  OF  HOME 7 

THE  ROAD 8 

THE  TELEGRAPH  POLES 9 

ON  THE  TRAIN 1 1 

EARLY  APRIL  IN  GRENSTONE  ....  13 

II.  NEIGHBORS    AND    THE    COUNTRY 
SIDE 

People  and  places  are  alive  with  light — 
Before  the  sun  itself  moves  into  sight. 

LUKE 17 

NEIGHBORS       18 

THE  BEAU 19 

A  FARMER  REMEMBERS  LINCOLN    .     .  20 

THE  FIELDS 22 

[vii] 


Contents 

GRENSTONE— Continued 

MERCY 23 

PAN 24 

THE  CIRCUS 25 

ASTRONOMY 34 

VANTAGE 35 

SUMMER  IN  GRENSTONE 36 

GRENSTONE  FALLS 37 

To  A  PHCEBE-BIRD 38 

GHOSTS  OF  INDIANS 40 

POPLARS       41 

A  THRUSH  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT  ...  42 

///.  CHILDREN  AND  DEATH 

Children  and  meadows  darken  with  the  rain — 
Before  the  sun  comes  by  them  up  the  lane. 

LULLABY 45 

As  A  CHILD 46 

KIDS         47 

WINNER  OF  SECOND 50 

THE  SNOWBALL 52 

THE  BIRTHDAY 53 

A  PLAYMATE 54 

DARKNESS 55 

GRASSES       56 

AN  OLD  ELEGY 57 

POOR  RICHARD 58 

CHANGE 59 

HOSTELRY 60 

[viii] 


Contents 

GREN  STONE— Continued 

GOOD  LADS 62 

LUCK 63 

JUDD 64 

SINGING  PAST  THE  CEMETERY      ...  65 

THE  FARMER 66 

THE  MINER 67 

HEIGHO        68 

ENOUGH 69 

NOCTURNE 70 

IV.  DALLIANCE 

Then  sometimes,  as  we  skip  along  for  fun, 
Our  shoe-laces  and  duties  come  undone. 

TO-MORROW 73 

THE  NAUGHTY  ANGEL  .......  74 

THE  TEN  COMMANDMENTS    ....  75 

A  WANDERER 76 

O,  I  HAVE  SEEN  IN  GRENSTONE  ...  77 

MARRIAGE 78 

ONE  DAY  WHEN  I  RODE  PEGASUS  .     .  79 

THE  MIRROR 80 

THE  SECRET 81 

THE  COQUETTE 82 

THE  SKEPTIC 83 

A  BALLAD  OF  UNDAUNTED  YOUTH  .     .  84 

WORLD'S  END 87 

THE  OLD  MILL 89 

A  MOMENT 91 

[ix] 


Contents 

GRENSTONE— Continued 

SUN  AND  MOON 92 

IN  LOVE 93 

YOUNG  EDEN 94 

BLOW  HOT,  BLOW  COLD 99 

BATTLES  LONG  AGO 100 

THE  SEEKER 101 

GOD'S  FOOL 102 

TREASURE 103 

THE  RIDER 104 

THE  HEART  OF  GOLD    ......  105 

ONCE  OF  ALL  MY  FRIENDS    .     .     .     .  106 

THE  DEAD  LOON       107 

OBLIVION 108 

V.  WISDOM  AND  UNWISDOM 

How  we  resolve  and  reason  and  explain 
The  various  ways  we  take  the  sun  and  rain! 

BEAUTY in 

To  YOURSELF 112 

To  MYSELF 113 

THE  NEW  LIFE 114 

WISDOM 115 

FOLLY 116 

A  SAIL 117 

A  GRENSTONE  GLADE 119 

To  No  ONE  IN  PARTICULAR  .     .     .     .  121 

BE  NOT  Too  FRANK 122 

THE  NEW  LOVE .  123 

THE  BALANCE 124 


Contents 
GRENSTONE— Continued 

VI.  THE  OLD  CRY 

And  in  the  very  midst  of  explanation, 
We  cry  the  single  cry  of  all  creation. 

CAPTURE 127 

YOUTH 129 

A  PRAYER  FOR  BEAUTY 130 

A  LANE  IN  GRENSTONE 131 

VII.  CELIA 

And  O  how  suddenly  the  cry  rings  true, 
Changing,  no  longer  saying  I — but  Yo«7 

CELIA 135 

THE  EARLY  GODS 136 

INTERPRETER 137 

SEAS  AND  LEAVES 138 

IN  MANY  STREETS 140 

YES 141 

THE  TOUCH  OF  You    .    .  -  .     .    .    .  142 

ON  EARTH 143 

ROSE-TIME        144 

CHARIOTS 145 

WHEN  THE  FIRST  BIRD  SANG  ....  146 

SAPPHICS  FOR  CELIA 147 

ENCOUNTER      ..........  152 

A  TENT-SONG .  153 

UNDER  THE  MOUNTAIN 154 

A  SHEPHERD  OF  STARS 155 

[xi] 


Contents 

II.  AWAY  FROM  GRENSTONE 

/.  AN  INLAND  CITY 

After  the  voice  I  had  always  waited  for, 
O  how  can  there  be  distance  any  more? 

MY  CITIZEN 161 

No  MAN'S  CLERK 162 

ONE  OF  THE  CROWD 163 

WITH  A  COPY  OF  "THE  SHROPSHIRE 

LAD" 165 

A  JUSTICE  REMEMBERS  LINCOLN  .  .  166 

HOBBLEDEHOY 169 

THE  POET 170 

THE  DEATH-BED  OF  A  CERTAIN  RICH 

MAN 172 

II.  WEST 

Can  prairies,  towns  and  mountains  separate 
Whisper  from  whisper,  answering  mate  from  mate? 

I  TURN  AND  FIND  You 175 

KANSAS 176 

THE  HILLS  OF  SAN  JOSE 178 

A  BAZAAR  BY  THE  SEA 179 

THE  GOLDEN  GATE 181 

MY  COUNTRY 182 

TRAIN-MATES       183 

SHASTA 186 

ACKNOWLEDGMENT 188 

[xii] 


Contents 

AWAY  FROM  GRENSTONE— Continued 

III.  SOUTH 

Some  of  love's  words  I  missed  when  I  was  near — 
/  must  be  far  from  them,  to  hear  them  clear. 

A  TORCH 193 

HONEYCOMB 194 

A  MOCKING-BIRD 196 

GOOD  MORNING,  MR.  MOCKING-BIRD  .  197 

A  GRENSTONE  ELM 199 

O  TAKE  ME  UP  To  GRENSTONE    .     .  200 

IV.  A  CITY  BY  THE  SEA 

Above  the  noise  of  countless  busy  men 
The  Voice  I  love  whispers  again — again. 

PRESENCE 203 

To  A  PAINTER 204 

APOLLO  TROUBADOUR 205 

To  A  FIELD-SPARROW 2IO 

WHAT  MAN  CAN  CALL  ME  CAPTIVE?  211 

A  SPRING  SONG  IN  A  CAFE      .     .     .     .  213 

THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 214 

ISRAEL 215 

ACROSS  THE  COUNTER 217 

HOME 218 

UNION  SQUARE 219 

DIANA  CAPTIVE 220 

A  NIGHT  THOUGHT 222 

THE  PATH 223 

JOURNEY 224 


Contents 

III.  GRENSTONE  AGAIN 

/.  CELIA 

Each  of  love's  lovely  words  but  makes  the  rest 
The  lovelier — till  all  are  loveliest. 

JOURNEY'S  END 231 

GRENSTONE 232 

LEST  I  LEARN 233 

BEYOND  A  MOUNTAIN 234 

THE  MYSTIC 236 

BREATH 237 

II.  NEWS 

If  a  word  of  doom  arrives — love,  hearing  it, 
Can  make  the  deathful  tidings  exquisite. 

PASSING  NEAR 241 

"THEY  BROUGHT  ME  BITTER  NEWS"  244 

THE  FLING 245 

TIDINGS 246 

AN  ANGEL       247 

GRIEVE  NOT  FOR  BEAUTY 248 

THREE  POPLARS 249 

///.  HAND  IN  HAND 

A  lover,  with  new  eyes,  can  turn  and  see 
All  men  companions  in  his  destiny. 

THE  CALENDAR 253 

LITTLE  PAN 254 

[xiv] 


Contents 
GRENSTONE  AGAIN— Continued 

GOD'S  ACRE 256 

To  ANY  ONE 257 

WAR 258 

THE  FAITH 259 

IV.  WOMEN 

And  women  are  his  awe:  so  that  he  pays 
New  homage  and  new  service  all  his  days. 

IN  THE  COOL  OF  THE  EVENING     .      .      .  263 

RESPONSES 266 

ANNUNCIATION 267 

V-.  LOSING  CELIA 

How  could  I  dream  that  darkness  would  close  in 
On  everything  that  shall  be  or  has  been! 

THE  NIGHT 273 

I  HEARD  HER  SING 274 

SURETY 276 

FAREWELL 277 

AT  THE  LAST 278 

Hie  JACET 279 

DISTANCE 280 

THERE  is  NOT  ANYTHING 281 

IT  is  NOT  SHE! 283 

ALOOF 283 

TRYST  IN  GRENSTONE 284 

SENTENCE 285 

[xv] 


Contents 

GRENSTONE  AGAIN— Continued 

VI.  FINDING  CELIA 

There  is  no  death  for  lovers — /'/  there  shine 

Such  light  through  other's  darkness  as  through  mine. 

THE  WIND  AT  THE  DOOR 289 

THE  WAY  OF  BEAUTY 290 

A  MASQUE  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH  .     .     .  291 

DURING  A  CHORALE  BY  CESAR  FRANCK  292 

SONGS  ASCENDING 294 

A  PRAYER 295 

VII.  AN  END  AND  A  BEGINNING 

Creator  and  created,  God  shall  be 
Born  forevermore — of  her  and  me. 

How  CAN  I  KNOW  You  ALL?    .     .     .  299 

FOR  I  AM  NOTHING  IF  I  AM  NOT  ALL  301 

OPEN  Hous£ 303 

CONSUMMATION 305 

BEHOLD  THE  MAN 307 


Acknowledgment  is  due  to  the  editors  of  The  Century,  Harper's,  The  Yale  Review, 
The  Little  Review,  The  Masses,  The  American,  McClure's,  The  New  Republic,  Reedy's 
Mirror,  The  Bellman,  The  Delineator,  Poetry,  The  Poetry  Journal,  The  Poetry  Review, 
The  Midland,  The  Metropolitan,  The  Bookman,  Lippincott's,  The  Smart  Set,  The 
Harvard  Advocate,  Sunset:  The  Pacific  Monthly,  Everybody's,  The  Pictorial  Review, 
The  Forum  and  The  Nation,  for  their  permission  to  reprint  certain  of  these  poems, 
and  to  Mitchell  Kennerley  for  permission  to  reprint  as  a  lyric  a  brief  passage  from 
"The  New  World." 


[xvi] 


A  Grace  Before 
the  Poems 


A  GRACE  BEFORE  THE  POEMS 

"Is  there  such  a  place  as  Grenstonef 

Celia,  hear  them  ask! 
Tell  me,  shall  we  share  it  with  them? — 

Shall  we  let  them  breathe  and  bask 

On  the  windy,  sunny  pasture, 

Where  the  hill-top  turns  its  face 

Toward  the  valley  of  the  mountain, 
Our  beloved  place? 

Shall  we  show  them  through  our  churchyard, 

With  its  crumbling  wall 
Set  between  the  dead  and  living? 

Shall  our  willowed  waterfall, 

Huckleberries,  pines  and  bluebirds 
Be  a  secret  we  shall  share?  .  .  . 

//  they  make  but  little  of  it, 
Celia,  shall  we  care? 


I.    GRENSTONE 


/.     ON  THE  WAY  TO  GREN STONE 


How  could  I  guess  what  difference  was  in  store 
I  who  had  never  really  loved  before? 


On  the  Way 
to  Grenstone 


BIRTHRIGHT 

I    TOO  was  born  in  Arcady; 
My  mother,  who  should  know, 
Whispered  it  through  death  to  me. 

But  it  was  long  ago; 
And  there  are  fathers  in  my  blood 
Who  never  would  have  understood 

A  son  of  Arcady, 
Nor  think  it  augurs  any  good 
And  cannot  let  it  be. 

So  what  these  sponsors  do,  forsooth, 

That  I  may  understand, 
Is  in  my  blood  to  tell  me  truth 

That  never  any  land 
Was  such  a  place  as  Arcady  .  .  . 
And  yet  my  mother  says  to  me, 

Who  left  me  long  ago, 
"You  too  were  born  in  Arcady — 

Should  not  your  mother  know?" 

[51 


Gremtone 


FOREIGN  HILLS 

YOU  would  not  think  that,  lost  so  young 
Here  in  this  outer  land, 
I  still  should  feel  my  spirit  wrung 
And  still  not  understand  .  .  . 

Though  Grenstone  is  the  name  they  said, 

And  though  I  pack  my  load 
And  though  my  cap  is  on  my  head — 

What  do  I  care  which  road? 

What  does  it  matter  where  I  go, 

When  all  I  do  is  roam 
Far  from  a  place  I  used  to  know, 

From  hills  and  streams  of  home? 

And  foreign  waters  only  smart 

The  lips  that  they  caress 
And  foreign  hills  but  bruise  the  heart 

With  vanished  happiness. 

[6] 


On  the  Way 
to  Grenstone 


HILLS  OF  HOME 

NAME  me  no  names  for  my  disease, 
With  uninforming  breath; 
I  tell  you  I  am  none  of  these, 
But  homesick  unto  death — 

Homesick  for  hills  that  I  had  known, 
For  brooks  that  I  had  crossed, 

Before  I  met  this  flesh  and  bone 
And  followed  and  was  lost  .  .  . 

And  though  they  break  my  heart  at  last, 

Yet  name  no  name  of  ills. 
Say  only,  "Here  is  where  he  passed, 

Seeking  again  those  hills." 


[71 


Grenstone 


THE  ROAD 

IT -was  gay,  starting — 
When  love  was  goal  and  goad, 
With  a  feathered  hope  for  darting 
And  an  open  foe  for  fighting  .  .  . 

I  knew  no  parting, 

While  love  was  still  a  torch  on  the  road 
Of  reuniting. 

But  when  love's  fire 
Had  nothing  more  to  show 

But  a  windy  spark, 

Then  came  the  dire 
Adventure — and  the  foe 
I  could  not  touch  nor  ever  tire 
Laughed  in  the  driving  dark. 


[8] 


On  the  Way 
to  Grenstone 


THE  TELEGRAPH-POLES 

CHAINED  a  miraculous  way, 
Rounding  the  world  in  their  flight- 
Prophets  of  death  in  the  day, 
Warning  of  life  in  the  night — 

Naked,  fettered  trees, 

Miles  over  field,  over  fen, 
Swift  beside  rails  to  the  seas, 

They  motionless  move  among  men. 

Sometimes  the  file  on  its  march 
Waits  with  a  beggared  look 

For  the  touch  of  a  leafy  arch, 

For  the  breath  of  the  turn  of  a  brook. 

The  rain  with  a  freshening  sound 
Falls  on  the  marshes — but  now 

Moistens  no  root  underground, 
Misses  the  glistening  bough. 

[9] 


Grenstone 


And  birds,  to  renew  their  wings, 
Come  as  of  old — but  the  wires 

Have  none  of  the  joy  of  the  strings 
Trembling  in  leafy-hung  lyres. 

Stripped  of  their  verdure  by  men, 

As  men  have  been  stripped  of  their  souls, 

Prophets  are  wandering  again — 
See  them? — the  telegraph-poles! 


[10] 


On  the  Way 
to  Grenstone 


ON  THE  TRAIN 

WHY  write  about  it?    How  do  I  know? 
But  what  I  see  I  now  set  down, 
For  in  my  pulse  the  touch  and  flow 
Of  spring  has  entered  from  the  urgent  show 
Of  river,  hill  and  town  .  .  . 


The  bends  of  the  Connecticut 

Reflecting  rows  of  pine  and  birch; 
The  banks  of  brush  that  climb  and  jut; 
A  castle  full  of  corn;  a  workman's  hut; 
A  pig,  a  barn,  a  church; 


A  boy  blue-shirted  at  his  ease 

Fishing;  a  hawk,  the  peak  of  a  cloud; 
A  man's  head  on  a  woman's  knees; 
Italians  singing  on  the  railroad; — these 
Enter  with  spring  and  crowd 
[ii] 


Grenstone 


My  heart  and  are  my  company 

And  lead  me  low  and  lead  me  high 
As  a  swallow  flying,  trying  to  be 
Water  and  earth  and  air.    And  what  I  see 
I  write,  not  knowing  why  .  .  . 

Nor  why  I  flow  and  pour  and  burn 

Bright  as  the  rim  of  yonder  dam, 
Nor  why  with  the  swallow  I  dart  and  turn, 
Trying  to  be  these  things  that  I  discern — 
Until  I  am,  I  ami 


[12] 


On  the  Way 
to  Grenstone 


EARLY  APRIL  IN  GRENSTONE 

THE  freshets  are  free  and  the  ice  is  afloat 
And  the  stems  of  the  willows  are  red  in 

the  air, 
The  crows  in  long  co'mpanies  echo  their  note 

And  the  little  birds  dare 
With  their  breasts  of  dawn  and  their  wings  of 

noon 
To  tell  that  the  bluets  are  following  soon. 

Then  a  sudden  cold  night  over  hollows  and  hills 

Lays  a  thickness  of  snow,  for  the  inclines  of  day 

And  the  meadows  and  bright  multitudinous  rills 

To  gather  away  .  .  . 

As  yesterday's  beauty,  returning,  shall  blend 
With   the   morrow's   new  beauty — as   I   with   a 
friend  1 


[13] 


77.     NEIGHBORS  AND   THE  COUNTRY 
SIDE 


People  and  places  are  alive  with  light — 
Before  the  sun  itself  moves  into  sight. 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


LUKE 

BAREHEADED,    with    his    bearded 
throat 

Open  and  brown,  Luke  was  a  friend 
Who  never  greeted  you  by  rote: 
His  good-day  seemed  itself  to  lend 

A  means  of  making  the  day  good; 

He  had  an  ear  for  any  true 
Request  or  need;  he  understood 

The  many  and  the  few. 

I  asked  him  in  Grenstone,  near  a  bed 

Of  those  big  strawberries  he  grew, 

"Tell  me  your  secret,  Luke,"  I  said, 

"Why  everybody's  fond  of  you?" 

"My  learning  quit  with  the  little  red  school, 
And  secrets  mostly  bother  me — 

But  there's  darn  good  sense  in  the  golden 
rule  .  .  . 
I'm  fond  o'  them,"  said  he. 

[17] 


Grenstone 


NEIGHBORS 

LET  me  have  faith,  is  what  I  pray, 
And  let  my  faith  be  strong! — 
But  who  am  I,  is  what  I  say, 
To  think  my  neighbor  wrong? 

And  though  my  neighbor  may  deny 
True  faith  could  be  so  slight, 

May  call  me  wrong,  yet  who  am  I 
To  think  my  neighbor  right? 

We  may  discover  by  and  by 
Making  our  wisdom  double, 

That  he  is  right  and  so  am  I — 
And  save  a  lot  of  trouble. 


[18] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


THE  BEAU 

HERE  goes  the  dandy  down  the  street, 
As  fine  a  fellow  as  you'll  meet, 
And  cocks  his  hat. 

But  whither  leads  a  dapper  tread? — 
My  poor  old  father  long  since  dead 
Was  good  at  that. 

My  mother  heard  my  father's  plea 
And  soon  presented  him  with  me; 

So  that  he  died: 

And  here  am  I,  waistcoat  and  all, 
The  image  of  my  father's  fall, 

As  of  his  pride. 

Grandames,  who  watched  through  darken 
ing  blind 
The  neatest  fellow  they  could  find 

With  stick  and  spat, 
Now  see  a  newer  dandy  stare 
With  the  same  unconquerable  air 

And  cock  his  hat. 

[19] 


Grenstone 


A  FARMER  REMEMBERS  LINCOLN 

"T    INCOLN?— 

JLj  Well,  I  was  in  the  old  Second  Maine, 
The  first  regiment  in  Washington  from  the  Pine 

Tree  State. 

Of  course  I  didn't  get  the  butt  of  the  clip ; 
We  was  there  for  guardin'  Washington — 
We  was  all  green. 


"I  ain't  never  ben  to  but  one  theater  in  my  life — 

I  didn't  know  how  to  behave. 

I  ain't  never  ben  since. 

I  can  see  as  plain  as  my  hat  the  box  where  he 

sat  in 

When  he  was  shot. 
I  can  tell  you,  sir,  there  was  a  panic 
When  we  found  our  President  was  in  the  shape 

he  was  in! 
Never  saw  a  soldier  in  the  world  but  what  liked 

him. 

[20] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 

"Yes,  sir.    His  looks  was  kind  o'  hard  to  forget. 

He  was  a  spare  man, 

An  old  farmer. 

Everything  was  all  right,  you  know, 

But  he  wan't  a  smooth-appearin'  man  at  all — 

Not  in  no  ways; 

Thin-faced,  long-necked, 

And  a  swellin'  kind  of  a  thick  lip  like. 

"And  he  was  a  jolly  old  fellow — always  cheerful; 
He  wan't  so  high  but  the  boys  could  talk  to  him 

their  own  ways. 

While  I  was  servin'  at  the  Hospital 
He'd  come  in  and  say,  "You  look  nice  in  here," 
Praise  us  up,  you  know. 
And  he'd  bend  over  and  talk  to  the  boys — 
And  he'd  talk  so  good  to  'em — so  close — 
That's  why  I  call  him  a  farmer. 
I  don't  mean  that  everything  about  him  wan't  all 

right,  you  understand, 
It's  just — well,  I  was  a  farmer — 
And  he  was  my  neighbor,  anybody's  neighbor. 

"I  guess  even  you  young  folks  would  'a'  liked 
him." 

[21] 


Grenstone 


THE  FIELDS 

THOUGH  wisdom  underfoot 
Dies  in  the  bloody  fields, 
Slowly  the  endless  root 
Gathers  again  and  yields. 

In  fields  where  hate  has  hurled 
Its  force,  where  folly  rots, 

Wisdom  shall  be  uncurled 
Small  as  forget-me-nots. 


[22] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


MERCY 

"T  TE  took  your  coat  away? 
J-  -1-        Then  go  and  fold 
Your  cloak  around  him  too — - 
Lest  he  be  cold. 

"And  if  he  took  from  you 

Your  daily  bread, 
Offer  your  heart  to  him — 
That  he  be  fed. 

"And  if  you  gave  him  all 
Your  life  could  give, 
Give  him  your  death  as  well — 
That  he  may  live." 


[23] 


Grenstone 


PAN 

WHILE  chopping  trees  down  on  a  summer's 
day, 

A  broad  young  farmer  asked  me  what  I  read. 
I  showed  the  title  to  him,  Pan  Is  Dead. 

'Gosh!     What   a   name!"   he   laughed — and 
hacked  away. 


[24] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


THE  CIRCUS 

I  WENT  to-night  to  a  country  circus. 
There  had  been  a  parade  at  noon, 

Strewn  out  along  the  village  street  under  the  elms 
and  maples: 

A  bugler,  and  gilt  wagons,  and  a  young  Indian 
with  eyes  calm  as  the  desert;  and  men  in 
western  costumes,  with  dark  and  weathered 
faces ; 

And  a  lioness  looking  from  a  corner  of  a  cage  out 
over  the  grass  of  a  field  toward  tree-trunks ; 

And  a  clown  riding  trickily  backward  on  a  bicycle, 
all  the  small  bicycles  in  the  village  trailing 
him; 

And  a  band  of  musicians  in  buckskins  and  tan 
shirts,  with  red  handkerchiefs  round  their 
necks,  sedately  but  youthfully  blowing  dis 
cords — 

All  but  the  drummer  with  his  drum,  which  can 
not  be  discordant; 

[25] 


Grenstone 

And  at  the  beginning  of  the  procession,  and  re 
membered  also  at  the  end, 

A  gray-haired  man  with  a  responsible  shrewd 
face. 

And  in  the  evening,  outside  the  smaller  tent  in  the 
flare  of  a  jetting  movable  light, 

The  gray-haired  man,  between  two  Indians,  did 
an  old-fashioned  trick,  interlinking  solid 
rings, 

And  talked  shrewdly  and  responsibly  for  a  long 
time. 

And  under  his  breath  he  remarked  afterwards, 
not  so  much  criticism  as  pride,  that  he  had 
seen  more  drunkenness  that  morning  in  the 
village  than  among  his  whole  troupe  on  their 
whole  trip, 

Having  already  said  aloud  like  a  preacher  that 
his  wife  traveled  with  him,  that  there  was 
no  immorality  in  the  troupe  and  that  two 
carpenters  had  been  discharged  that  morn 
ing  for  profanity. 

And  in  the  rush  for  tickets  there  was  bumping 
and  wedging; 

[26] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 

And  there  stood  stalwart,  guarding  the  ticket- 
booth  and  advising  the  line,  a  youth  whose 
voice  had  the  drawl  of  the  south  and  whose 
eyes  were  gray  and  sentimental  and  whose 
mouth  was  sullen  and  tobacco-stained; 

And  the  sentiment  faded  out  of  his  eyes  when 
he  told  three  countrymen,  who  tried  to  force 
their  way  into  the  line  by  means  of  banter, 

That  he  had  money  enough  in  his  pocket  to  pay  a 
fine; 

And  they  went  back  and  quietly  took  their  places 
at  the  end,  but  not  until  he  had  sent  their 
damn  souls  to  hell. 


And  then  in  the  smaller  tent  a  silent  young  squaw, 
like  an  Egyptian  child,  held  the  head  of  a 
python  while  her  husband,  the  Indian  of  the 
procession,  standing  behind  her,  moved  and 
guided  the  silver  coils  and  mottles  of  the 
python  round  her  body  and  watched  her  with 
eyes  that  had  seen  the  west. 

And  a  pony  counted  numbers  and  told  time  with 
his  paw. 

[27] 


Grenstone 

And  Punch  had  his  unflagging  game  with  Judy. 

And  a  pale  Swede,  with  a  paunch,  alarmed  the 
lioness  by  rattling  the  door  of  her  cage,  then 
opened  it  and  stood  inside  for  a  quick  mo 
ment — 

And  always  the  gray-haired  man  shrewdly  and 
responsibly  announcing. 

And  the  Indian  and  his  squaw  sang  in  sweet, 
strange  voices  a  modern  tune  to  their  own 
words,  and  his  gestures  were  the  world-old 
gestures  of  beauty; 

And  he  played  the  harmonica  deftly  on  one  side 
and  then  on  the  other,  alternating,  no  pause, 
and  cupped  it  with  a  strong  dark  hand. 

Then  suddenly,  outside  toward  the  larger  tent,  the 
youngsters  blared  discords; 

And  presently  he  stopped. 

They  said  that  he  was  a  chief  and  he  may  well 
have  been, 

For  not  even  appearing  six  or  seven  times  each 
afternoon  and  six  or  seven  times  each  eve 
ning  and  selling  beads  betweenwhiles  to  make 
New  England  holidays  and  his  own  spending- 
[28] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 

money,  not  even  that  had  undone  the  dignity 
of  his  brow  and  straight  nose,  or  the  aloof 
ness  of  his  courtesy,  or  the  silence  behind  his 
speech  when  I  questioned  him,  like  the  stars 
over  city  roofs. 

He  was  a  Sioux,  but  had  come  from  Arizona, 

And  when  I  questioned  further,  it  was  true  that 
he  had  lived  in  the  silent  places 

Beside  the  Grand  Canyon. 

And  he  let  me  see  for  a  moment  that  he  knew  by 
what  I  said  about  the  Canyon,  and  by  what  I 
could  not  say,  that  I,  too,  felt  his  silence 
and  the  river  that  pours  through  it  unheard. 

Then  we  all  went  into  the  larger  tent,  which  was 
open  to  the  night. 

And  there  was  first  the  small  pomp  of  the  pro 
cession,  more  fitting  for  some  reason  under 
the  night  sky  than  under  the  elms  at  noon. 

And  there  was  swift  riding  and  shrill  calling. 

And  there  was  a  woman  on  a  glossy  horse  that 
drew    gently    backward    in    a    circle    like 
memory,  or  stepped  forward  in  difficult  slow 
time  like   anticipation — 
[29] 


Grenstone 

And  the  woman's  face  was  like  petrified  wood 
at  dusk; 

And  there  was  a  quadrille  of  horses  carrying  the 
young  men  with  dark  faces,  some  of  which, 
when  they  came  by  the  light,  were  lean  and 
wan. 

And  there  was  incessantly  the  accompaniment  by 
the  young  musicians;  among  whom  was  a 
woman  who  played  the  cornet  when  neces 
sary  and  the  rest  of  the  time  coughed. 

And  there  was  a  young  man  with  his  shirt  cut 
diagonally  across  his  back  and  chest  and 
deep  under  his  arms,  to  show  the  muscles 
moving  like  little  waves  when  he  lifted  and 
lowered  himself  and  twined  around  the  hang 
ing  rings,  or  balanced  horizontal  and,  by  a 
strap  from  his  neck,  held  a  workman  off  the 
ground. 

.And  there  was  a  thin  Mexican  boy  whose  nerves 
tingled  with  the  nerves  of  the  horses  as  he 
ran  alongside  them  and  leapt  into  the  saddle 
and  out  again  and  leaned  and  curved  with 
the  lean  and  curve  of  the  horses  and  ejacu 
lated  little  phrases  in  a  small  harsh  voice. 
[30] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 

And  there  was  an  experienced  thick-set  man  whose 
eye  could  calculate  distance  and  motion  and 
whose  hand  could  throw  a  noose  round  a 
swift-moving  horseman's  neck  or  waist,  or 
round  the  horse's  head  or  haunches  or  legs, 
or  round  the  bodies  of  four  horses  urged  in 
a  group  by  four  riders  with  spurs. 

And  there  was  a  broncho  that  made  a  noise  with 
the  nostrils  neither  whinny  nor  neigh  and  a 
man  in  a  yellow  shirt  who  stayed  astride  him, 
while  five  men  on  foot  shouted  and  yelled 
and  the  people  on  the  lower  benches  drew 
back  from  the  sharp  bucking. 

And  the  Mexican  boy,  seizing  his  turn  with  avid 
ity,  swung  a  circle  of  rope  round  his  curls 
and  stepped  through  it  and  back  again  and 
let  it  widen  and  widen  until  he  swayed  within 
it  even  smaller  than  he  had  been  and  thinner 
and  swifter. 

And  there  were  clowns,  and  many  little  boys  in 
the  audience  equally  open-mouthed  for 
laughing  or  for  watching. 

And  there  were  peanuts,  and  tickets  for  the  con- 


Grenstone 

cert,  and  cold  lemonade,  and  the  chill  of 
night,  and  the  smell  of  the  lights,  and  dust 
from  the  rush  of  the  horses. 

And  there  were  the  shadowy  crowds. 

And  there  was  again  the  young  Indian,  with 
beads  over  his  arm,  offering  them  not  in 
sistently  nor  anxiously,  but  with  silence  and 
certainty  and  an  arm  out  now  and  then  as  if 
he  were  showing  me  the  Grand  Canyon  of 
the  Colorado  .  .  . 

Whose  vast  and  rusted  deeps  were  unmoving  but 
for  the  slow,  blue,  diagonal  line  of  twi 
light,  as  clear  as  the  blue,  diagonal  shirt 
across  the  flesh  of  the  fellow  in  the  hanging 
rings  .  .  . 

And  from  the  edge  of  the  canyon  a  blue-jay 
darted  and  poised  and  chirped,  as  undaunted 
as  the  Mexican  boy  darting  and  uttering  his 
small,  hoarse  phrases  over  the  edge  of 
death  .  .  . 

That  rim 

Where  the  sky  at  night  is  tipped  upside  down  and 
silence  is  brought  whole  to  your  feet, 

The  silence  containing  China  and  Syria  and  Egypt 
[32] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 

and  all  their  architecture  and  swift  motions 
and     their    pyramids     and    unremembered 
speech — 
And  a  river  that  pours  unheard. 


t33l 


Grenstone 


ASTRONOMY 

WHETHER  there  are  peopled  stars 
Other  than  our  own  and  Mars, 
We  shall  either  know  or  not 
When  we're  done  with  what  we've  got. 

But  there's  something  stranger  far 
Than  wee  folk  on  a  great  star, 
When  there  dwell  such  mighty  skies 
In  such  little  people's  eyes. 


[341 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


VANTAGE 

ALL  is  not  well — so  you  go  on 
With  what  a  wilful  way, 
And  you  are  bound  where  others  have  gone, 
You  are  as  sure  as  they. 

All  must  be  well  or  you're  off  in  a  trice — 

Therefore  you  never  stay; 
For  you  crave  in  summer  streams  of  ice, 

In  winter  growing  hay. 

You  cannot  bear  it  cut  and  dried 

And  pitched  and  put  away, 
And  you  cannot  bear  it  green  and  wide 

Over  the  mounds  of  May. 

You  cry  for  all  good  things,  you  dunce, 

Together  in  one  day, 
You  are  as  young  as  I  was  once — 

With  what  a  wilful  way  I 

[35] 


Grenstone 


SUMMER  IN  GRENSTONE 

SUMMER,  I  bring  my  knees  again 
To  your  shrine  of  lighted  sky: 
With  silent  wonder  worshiping, 

Deep  in  the  grass  I  lie 
In  wonderful  fright  of  a  bumblebee, 

Or  a  rapid  speck  of  red, 
Or  an  ant  with  little  bandy  legs 

And  a  little  tugging  head; 
In  wondering  league  with  his  busy  speed, 

(What  is  it  makes  him  spry? — 
The  many  little  sandy  domes 

Of  the  kingdom  in  his  eye?) 
In  tune  with  the  gleeful  wit  of  a  bird; 

And,  at  far-off  puffs  of  a  train, 
Content  with  the  wonders  made  by  men, 

Though  made  they  be  with  pain. 
For  by  these  wonders  yours  I  see; 

Summer,  holy,  sweet; — 
And  here  in  selfish  faith  again 

I  kneel  before  your  feet. 
[36] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


GRENSTONE  FALLS 

THERE'S  a  hollow  under  the  falls 
Where  happy  fellows  play — 
You  can  hear  their  laughter  and  their  calls 
A  mile  away, 
Greeting  the  spray  .  .  . 

You  brace  on  the  slant  of  the  rock, 
You  slide  along — till  it  comes 

From  face  to  feet  with  a  shivering  shock, 
An  avalanche  of  drums ! 

And  when  you  shout  and  dive, 

With  water  and  air  above, 
O,  it's  like  finding  yourself  alive 

With  the  only  one  you  love! 

And  then,  where  a  nested  haystack  waits — 
Two  happy  mates, 

You  and  the  sun, 

When  the  courting's  done, 

Lie  like  one. 

[37] 


Grenstone 


TO  A  PHOEBE-BIRD 

T  TNDER  the  eaves,  out  of  the  wet, 
*J        You  nest  within  my  reach; 
You  never  sing  for  me  and  yet 
You  have  a  golden  speech. 

You  sit  and  quirk  a  rapid  tail, 

Wrinkle  a  ragged  crest, 
Then  pirouette  from  tree  to  rail 

And  vault  from  rail  to  nest. 

And  when  in  frequent,  dainty  fright 

You  grayly  slip  and  fade, 
And  when  at  hand  you  re-alight 

Demure  and  unafraid, 

And  when  you  bring  your  brood  its  fill 

Of  iridescent  wings 
And  green  legs  dewy  in  your  bill, 

Your  silence  is  what  sings. 
[38] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


Not  of  a  feather  that  enjoys 
To  prate  or  praise  or  preach, 

O  phoebe,  with  so  little  noise, 
What  eloquence  you  teach  1 


[391 


Grenstone 


GHOSTS  OF  INDIANS 

INDIAN-FOOTED  move  the  mists 
From  the  corner  of  the  lake, 
Silent,  sinuous  and  bent ; 
And  their  trailing  feathers  shake, 
Tremble  to  forgotten  leapings, 
While  with  lingerings  and  creepings 
Down  they  lean  again  to  slake 
The  dead  thirst  of  parching  mouths, 
Lean  their  pale  mouths  in  the  lake. 

Indian-footed  move  the  mists 

That  were  hiding  in  the  pine, 

Out  upon  the  oval  lake 

In  a  bent  and  ghostly  line 

Lean  and  drink  for  better  sleeping  .  . 

Then  they  turn  again  and — creeping, 

Gliding  as  with  fur  and  fins — 

Disappear  through  woods  and  water 

On  a  thousand  moccasins. 

[40] 


Neighbors  and 
the  Countryside 


POPLARS 

POPLARS  against  a  mountain 
Seem  frequently  to  me 
To  be  little-windowed  cities 
And  sun-waves  on  the  sea. 

Perhaps  dead  men  remember 
Those  beckonings  of  fire, 

Waves  that  have  often  crumbled 
And  windows  of  desire  .  .  . 

Another  year  and  some  one, 
Standing  where  I  now  stand, 

Shall  watch  my  tree  rekindle, 
From  ancient  sea  and  land — 

The  beckoning  of  an  ocean, 
The  beckoning  of  a  town, 

Till  the  sun's  behind  the  mountain 
And  the  wind  dies  down. 


Gr ens  tone 


i 


A  THRUSH  IN  THE  MOONLIGHT 

N  came  the  moon  and  covered  me  with  wonder, 
Touched  me  and  was  near  me  and  made  me 

very  still. 

In  came  a  rush  of  song,  like  rain  after  thunder, 
Pouring  importunate  on  my  window-sill. 

I  lowered  my  head,  I  hid  it,  I  would  not  see  nor 

hear, 
The  birdsong  had  stricken  me,  had  brought  the 

moon  too  near. 
But  when  I  dared  to  lift  my  head,  night  began  to 

fill 
With   singing  in  the   darkness.      And   then   the 

thrush  grew  still. 

And  the  moon  came  in,  and  silence,  on  my  window- 
sill. 


[42] 


III. —CHILDREN  AND  DEATH 


Children  and  meadows  darken  with  the  rain- 
Before  the  sun  comes  by  them  up  the  lane. 


Children  and 
Death 


LULLABY 

'LL  send  you  now  sailing  across  the  sea, 

I'll  send  you  now  sailing  away — 
Out  where  the  fishes  love  to  be, 
Out  where  the  gulls 
Are  at  play. 

"But  soon  you'll  come  sailing  from 

far  away, 

Come  sailing  from  over  the  sea — 
Back  where  my  baby  loves  to  stay, 
Back  again  home 
To  me." 


[45] 


Grenstone 


AS  A  CHILD 

LET  me  in  death  but  slip  away 
From  people  and  the  light  of  day 
As  when  a  child  I  found  my  rest 
On  my  mother's  soothing  breast. 

Let  them  not  come  and  sit  around 
With  solemn  face  and  whispered  sound  !- 
Such  comfort  I  have  never  known 
As  with  my  mother  all  alone. 


[46] 


Children  and 
Death 


KIDS 

£T_TEY,  I've  found  some  money-wort, 
•*-  -•-    Some  day  I'll  be  rich ! — 
Or  I  wonder  if  it's  checkerberry? — 
I  don't  know  which  is  which. 

"Look,  don't  touch  that  blade  of  grass, 
Just  keep  away  from  it! 
For  see  that  frothy  bubbly  ball? — 
That's  snake-spit! 

"Cover  your  lips,  the  darning-needle 
Loves  to  sew  'em  up ! — 
Who  likes  butter?     Lift  your  chin — 
Here's  a  buttercup. 

"She  loves  me — she  loves  me  not — 
I  wish  that  I  knew  why 
It  always  comes  a  different  way 
Every  time  I  try. 

[47] 


Grenstone 


"How  many  children? — Here  you  are — 
You  can  have  three  blows — 
And  you  don't  want  many  children, 
For  you  have  to  buy  'em  clo'es. 

"Now  we  can  take  the  stems,  see, 
And  wet  'em  into  curls 
And  stick  'em  in  our  hair  and  run 
And  make  believe  we're  girls. 

"D'y'  ever  whistle  a  blade  of  grass? 
Look,  I  got  a  fat  one  .  .  . 
You  slit  it,  see?    Here's  one  for  you — 
There's  no  snake-spit  on  that  one. 

"Aren't  big  people  funny 
That  they  don't  want  to  play? 
And  some  of  'em  don't  like  ice-cream — 
I  couldn't  be  that  way. 

"They  just  sit  round  and  talk  and  talk — 
O'  course  their  hands  are  clean. 
But  they  make  us  wash  ours  all  the  time. 
I  couldn't  be  that  mean, 
[48] 


Children  and 
Death 


"No,  honestly  I  couldn't, 
Could  you?     I'd  sooner  die. 
We'll  dig  some  worms  to-morrow 
And  go  fishin' !    Goo'-byl" 


[491 


Grenstone 


WINNER  OF  SECOND 

LOOK  me  in  the  face,  Tom, 
Give  me  your  hand  to  shake ! 
I  saw  you  run  your  race,  Tom, 
And  I  saw  the  sudden  break 
Bring  hot  upon  your  forehead 

The  anger  asking  why; 
And  there  were  more  who  saw  it, 
Others  as  well  as  I. 


We  tried  to  make  a  protest, 

We  crowded  round  the  track; 
But  the  judges  had  not  noticed 

His  arm  that  swung  you  back. 
Although  that's  what  they're  for,  Tom, 

To  spy  a  fault  or  foul, 
We  liked  you  for  all  the  more,  Tom, 

For  swiftness  of  your  soul. 
[50] 


Children  and 
Death 


You  heard  the  winner's  statement 

And  silently  you  backed 
His  word  without  abatement 

Of  your  knowledge  of  the  fact. 
But,  Tom,  the  dust  shall  thicken 

On  a  forgotten  prize, 
And  victory  shall  quicken 

In  your  remembered  eyes ! 


Grenstone 


THE  SNOWBALL 

:'T7^  ACH  year  a  fuller  year  surely  preferred 
•*— '  To  all  the  others,"  was  old  age's  word  .  . 

Till  like  a  well-aimed  snowball  came  the  cry 
Of  youth,  running  and  impudent,  "You  lie !" 


[52] 


Children  and 
Death 


THE  BIRTHDAY 

A  LAUGHING,  panting  little  Pan, 
A  happy  Pete  on  his  fourth  birthday, 
Dropping  his  arms  of  golden  tan, 
Solemn  a  moment,  suddenly  ran 
Back  to  his  play. 

Then,  "What's  the  matter?"  said  Pete  to  me, 

Hearing  me  laugh,  hearing  me  sigh  .  .  . 
"I'm  not  so  young  as  I  used  to  be," 
I  answered — and  quick  as  a  bird  said  he, 
"Neither  am  I!" 


[531 


Grenstone 


A  PLAYMATE 

PETE'S  little  arms  are  wide, 
He  runs  to  us. 
We  open  ours — 
He  laughs ;  he  is  not  there. 

We  hold  a  candle  by  his  bed 

To  look  at  him  asleep, 

And  when  we  move  it  near  his 

lips, 
Out  it  goes ! — 


[54] 


Children  and 
Death 


DARKNESS 

DARKNESS,  when  he  thought  of  it, 
Meant  to  him  something  he  must 
dread, 

And  when  we  left  we  always  lit 
A  candle  by  his  bed. 

But  now  he  will  not  ask  for  light, 
The  candle's  little  flame  is  blown; 

And  we  leave  him  lying  every  night 
In  darkness  of  his  own. 


[55] 


Gr ens  tone 


GRASSES 

HE  picked  us  clover  leaves  and  starry  grass 
And  buttercups  and  chickweed.  One  by 
one, 

Smiling  he  brought  them.    We  can  never  pass 
A  roadside  or  a  hill  under  the  sun 
Where  his  wee  flowers  will  not  return  with  him, 
His  little  weeds  and  grasses,  cups  that  brim 
With  sunbeams,  leaves  grown  tender  in  the  dew. 

Come  then,  O  come  with  us  and  each  in  turn, 

Children  and  elders,  let  us  thread  a  few 

Of  all  the  daisies;  to  enfold  his  urn 

And  fade  beside  this  day  through  which  he  passes, 

Bringing  us  clover  leaves  and  starry  grasses. 


[56] 


Children  and 
Death 


AN  OLD  ELEGY 

EARTH  with  flowers  on  his  eyes, 
Be  thou  as  sweet  as  he — 
Be  thou  as  light  where  now  he  lies 
As  he  was  light  on  thee  I 


[57] 


Grenstone 


POOR  RICHARD 

('  'What's  the  use  of  a  new-born  child?"— BENJAMIN  FRANKLIN.) 

WHAT'S  the  use  of  a  new-born  child?  .  .  . 
To  raise  the  dead  heart? —  to  set  wild 
The  fettered  hope  ? — to  comfort  sorrow — 
With  the  old  whispering  lie:  "Tomorrow?" 

Whether  he  take  the  morrow  by  the  hand 

And  disappear  with  it  and  come  no  more — 

Whether  he  live,  like  men  before, 

And  fail  to  understand 

And  so  can  only  borrow 

From  some  other  new-born  child 

That  same  tomorrow 

He  himself  had  brought  when  first  he  smiled — 

O  what's  the  use  of  a  new-born  child?  .  .  . 

Poor  Richard ! — 

He  made  his  mark  in  earth  and  sky, 
But  never  knew  the  reason  why. 
Neither  do  you ;  neither  do  I. 
Poor  Richard ! 

[58] 


Children  and 
Death 


CHANGE 

LITTLE  white  hearse 
Gone  down  the  street — 
If  on  his  bright  and  unbruised  feet 
He  should  come  back 
With  life  still  sweet, 
Only  to  change  to  a  different  hack, 
The  little  white  hearse 
Grown  big  and  black, 
Would  it  be  worse  ? 


[59] 


Grenstone 


HOSTELRY 

THE  doorway  opens  on  a  crumbled  inn 
Whose  windy  sign  is  creaking  overhead 
With  worms  and  weather,   where  a  name  had 

been, 
Telling  the  empty  title  of  the  dead  .  .  . 

Was  he  a  hard  man  in  his  time  of  gain? 
Or  were  his  cronies  costly  to  his  purse? 
Had  he  a  wife?    And  was  she  wise  or  vain? 
Did  many  mourners  follow  at  his  hearse? 

I  asked  a  barefoot  girl  out  in  the  road 
Silently  watching  me,  conquering  her  fears, 
To  name  the  host  of  this  antique  abode. 
"O,  he's  been  dead,"  she  said,   "for  years  and 
years." 

I  asked  in  Grenstone  Village.     No  one  knew. 
I  asked  the  wasted  signboard  overhead. 
I  heard  the  hinges  and  the  wind  that  blew, 
Crying  the  empty  title  of  the  dead. 
[60] 


Children  and 
Death 

His  ledger  broken,  debt  and  debtor  gone, 
His  corner  dark  with  rottenness  and  rust, 
Somewhere  mine  host  was  paying  flesh  and  bone 
To  lengthen  out  his  lodging  in  the  dust. 


[61] 


Grenstone 


GOOD  LADS 

GREENLY  hid,  with  drops  of  red, 
Wild  strawberries  are  sweeter  bred 
Among  these  Grenstone  graves  and  stones 
Than  in  a  field  of  fewer  bones. 

There's  many  a  good  lad  under  clay; 
And  I'm  not  sure  but  that's  the  way 
Will  keep  them  young  and  clean  and  good 
And  happier  than  living  could. 

For  let  him  run  or  let  him  read, 
Or  lift  a  flower  or  fling  a  weed, 
Or  stain  his  mouth  with  mortal  feast, 
He  learns  the  most  who  learns  the  least, 

That  many  a  good  lad  yet  on  ground 
Has  sought  for  fair  and  never  found; 
A  thing  you  cannot  surely  say 
Of  good  lads  lying  under  clay. 

[62] 


Children  and 
Death 


LUCK 

LUCK  was  the  lass  he  chased, 
Seeking  the  wide  world  over, 
But  she  laughed  his  love  to  waste 
With  many  a  lighter  lover. 

Now  though  his  life  is  paid 
And  no  more  shall  he  love  her, 

Luck  loves,  like  any  jade, 
One  who  is  careless  of  her. 

Now  where  he  lies  abed 
And  never  stirs  the  cover, 

And  never  turns  his  head — 
She  will  not  leave  her  lover. 


[63] 


Grenstone 


JUDD 

"/^~\THEY  were  quiet,  they  were  kind 
v^/       A  month  ago  to-day, 
The  neighbors  and  the  minister — 
And  only  Judd  away ! 

"He  lay  beside  me  thirty  years 

And  now  lies  under  the  snow 
Over  which  the  neighbors  drive 
And  whistle  as  they  go. 

"It  never  can  be  death  to  them, 

No  matter  what  they  say, 
Until  they  sit  alone  like  me 
And  listen  to  a  sleigh." 


[64] 


Children  and 
Death 


SINGING  PAST  THE  CEMETERY 

SINGING  past  the  cemetery, 
Flowers  in  their  curls, 
Thinking  of  their  loves  and  merry, 
Goes  a  line  of  girls. 

Grenstone  girls  are  gay  and  twenty 

On  the  first  of  May — 
Grenstone  graves  are  gray  and  plenty 

Any  day. 

But  I  must  not  sing  of  sorrow, 

Lest  someone  say 
Sorrow's  not  a  thing  to  borrow 

But  to  ward  away. 

Though  Grenstone  graves  be  plain  and 
plenty 

On  the  first  of  May — 
Yet  Grenstone  girls  are  vain  and  twenty 

Any  day. 

[65] 


Grenstone 


THE  FARMER 

FARMER  PALFREY  was  a  man 
Excellent,  wise  and  sober, 
Whose  life  in  1812  began 
And  ended  last  October. 

And  there's  a  boy  aged  51, 
Reading  it  upside-down, 
Farmer  Palfrey's  youngest  son, 
The  drunkard  of  the  town. 


[66] 


Children  and 
Death 


THE  MINER 

HE'LL  never  miss  his  strike, 
For  here  where  he  is  laid 
He  proves  all  luck  alike 
Of  common  clay  is  made. 

He's  followed  many  an  ore, 
But  it's  been  hit  or  miss — 
He  never  turned  before 
So  sure  a  dust  as  this. 


[67] 


Grenstone 


HEIGHO 

WHILE  dead  men  rest,  and  live  men 
rove, 

And  moons  and  mountains  come  and  go, 
Soon  as  the  right  hearts  cleave  in  love — 
I  am ! — Heigho ! 

A  dangling,  dear,  forbidden  sweet — 
A  swift,  forbidden,  conquering  blow — 

A  rush  of  fire  from  head  to  feet — 
I  will!— Heigho! 

What  is  the  gain  for  man  and  wife? 

What  is  the  harvest  we  shall  grow, 
That  we  must  sow  the  seed  of  life? 

I  know ! — Heigho ! 

While  dead  men  rest,  and  live  men  rove, 
And  moons  and  mountains  come  and  go, 

Soon  as  the  spadefuls  close  above, 
I  was! — Heigho  I 

[68] 


Children  and 
Death 


ENOUGH 

A  HILL  with  little  breezes  and  with  me 
Close  to  its  side,  holding  a  book  of  love 
To  lull  in  tune  with  tremors  of  the  grove : 
Enough  of  life,  enough  of  history. 

A  field  of  mortal  fragrance  from  the  breath 
Of  men  soft  sunken  in  the  roots  of  flowers, 
Infinite  peace  around  the  troubled  hours : 
Enough  of  mystery,  enough  of  death. 

And  then  myself  to  enter  in  and  be 
With  hill  and  field  and  root,  part  of  the  breeze, 
Moss  for  a  violet,  sap  of  the  trees: 
Enough  of  will,  enough  of  destiny. 


[69] 


Grenstone 


NOCTURNE 

SOFT  through  a  mist  there's  a  memory  creep 
ing, 

To  tell  you  in  dreams  that  are  wistful  and  low, 
Soft  through  the  mist  between  waking  and  sleep 
ing— 
Of  love  as  she  came  to  you  long,  long  ago  .  .  . 

Tells  you  of  love  as  a  deathless  maiden 

Who  plays  with  a  moonbeam  and  laughs  like  a 

child  .  .  . 
Her   eyes  are  how   full!— and   her  lashes  how 

laden 

With   starlight! — her   glances   how  level   and 
mild! 

See  how  her  finger-tips  fitfully  glisten ! 

See  with  what  wonder  her  forehead  is  deep  ! — 
She  breathes,  and  you  tremble  .  .  .  she  waits, 

and  you  listen  .  .  . 

She  waits,  and  you  breathe  not  .  .  .  she 
breathes  .  .  .  and  you  sleep. 


IV.    DALLIANCE 


Then  sometimes,  as  we  skip  along  for  fun, 
Our  shoe-laces  and  duties  come  undone. 


Dalliance 


TOMORROW 

WHILE  you  watch  the  sad  moon, 
Dawn  comes  unawares, 
With  her  finger  on  her  lip 

Steals  up  the  stairs, 
With  a  bird  on  her  shoulder 

Glides  up  the  stairs, 
And  sets  her  bird  startling  you 
With  little  green  airs  .  .  . 

"Stop  mooning, 
My  boy, 
Laugh  sorrow 
Away, 
Be  tuning 
For  joy! 
It's  tomorrow — 
Today!" 


[731 


Grenstone 


THE  NAUGHTY  ANGEL 

THREE  churches  has  Grenstone 
All  on  one  street ; 
Also  a  graveyard 
Kept  very  neat, 
Where  a  vigilant  guide 

For  the  passenger's  eye, 
A  maiden  of  marble, 
Points  to  the  sky. 

The  man  who  designed  her 

Had  meant  her  to  say: 
"Come,  good  little  children 

Of  heaven  this  way!" — 
But  with  hand  gaily  lifted 

And  angle  all  wrong 
She  capers  and  says : 

"Have  some  fun! — come  along!" 


[74] 


Dalliance 


THE  TEN  COMMANDMENTS 

HE  closed  the  windows  tight  all  ten, 
Bolted  and  shuttered  them  all, 
Lest  he  should  happen  to  lean  on  a  sill 
And  lose  his  balance  and  fall. 

He  sat  in  the  middle  and  glibly  prayed 
A  thankful,  mechanical  prayer 

And  closed  his  eyes  and  fell  asleep — 
And  died  for  lack  of  air. 


[75] 


Grenstone 


A 


A  WANDERER 

S  when  a  bird  alights  at  sea, 
I  found  you  and  you  rested  me. 


Out  of  the  ocean's  infinite  foam, 
I  found  you  and  I  made  you  home. 

But  soon  again  I  wandered  free — 
For  so  a  sea-bird  loves  the  sea. 


[76] 


Dalliance 


O,  I  HAVE  SEEN  IN  GRENSTONE 

OI  HAVE  seen  in  Grenstone 
How  generous  and  how  fond 
Benedick  is  toward  every  one, 
Before  he  gives  his  bond. 

On  other  days  than  Christmas 

His  good-will  apprehends 
A  world  filled  high  as  bins  in  the  fall 

With  golden-hearted  friends, 

And  on  other  days  than  May-day 

He  merits  and  discovers 
A  world  filled  bright  as  woods  in  spring 

With  unbounded  lovers. 

But  Benedick  once  married 
Must  lead  a  straitened  life, 

With   the   world,   east,   west   and 

north  and  south, 
Bounded  by  a 

[77] 


Grenstone 


MARRIAGE 

SHALL  marriage  never  be  the  glory 
That  was  wooed? — 
But  ever  enervate  and  vex, 

Obstruct,  intrude, 
And  make  more  wistful  and  complex 

The  solitude, 

Trying  to  tell  the  human  story 
To  its  brood? 

No  matter  how  the  homes  are  humming 

In  a  mood 
Of  ecstasy  or  sentiment 

Or  love  renewed, 
What  eager  two  can  circumvent 

The  mortal  feud? — 
Till  both  in  one  shall  die — becoming 

Multitude. 


Dalliance 


ONE  DAY  WHEN  I  RODE  PEGASUS 

SHE  caroled  on  a  Grenstone  lane, 
She  had  a  song  for  every  tree; 
They  leaned  to  her  and  one  by  one 

They  walked  with  her  for  company  .  . 
I  rode  behind  on  Pegasus 

And  hoped  that  she  would  turn  and  see. 

How  could  I  wait?    I  spurred  ahead 
And  spied  the  poems  on  her  cheek 

And  begged  of  her  to  sing  again. 
She  only  smiled.     Perhaps  to  pique 

The  gentleman  on  Pegasus, 

She  only  smiled.    She  would  not  speak. 

"Tell  me  but  this,"  I  humored  her, 
"In  all  the  sadness  of  the  spring, 

The  secret  of  such  happiness, 

And  I  will  ride  till  highroads  ring!" 

She  said — her  eyes  were  full  of  tears — 
"Let  me  alone  and  I  will  sing!" 

[79] 


Grenstone 


THE  MIRROR 

O  THERE'S  hardly  a  daughter  of  Eve  so 
cold 

That  a  mirror  can't  cozen  and  flatter, 
And  her  heart  grows  young  that  was  growing 

old!— 
And  what  does  a  wrinkle  matter? 

The  secret  is  this,  that  her  vanity  leaps 

With  a  sudden  attention,  that  otherwise  sleeps, 

And  the  best  that  is  in  her,  matron  or  lass, 

Is  awake  like  a  throb  to  the  heart  of  the  glass. 

Now  you  have  no  vanity,  none  of  the  art — 
But  there's  one  way  I  wish  you  were  vain ! 

Why  don't  you  happen  to  look  in  my  heart? — 
And  like  it  and  look  there  again? 


[80] 


Dalliance 


THE  SECRET 

TAKING  women  as  they  come, 
I  like  them  better  as  they  go"- 
That  was  what  I  used  to  say 
And  smile  to  have  it  so. 

Liking  women  as  they  went, 

That  was  the  way  I  wisely  chose 

Why  I  asked  one  not  to  go — 
God  only  knows. 


[81] 


Grenstone 


THE  COQUETTE 

i 

SHE  loves  me  and  she  loves  me  not, 
According  to  her  whim ; 
For  when  another's  on  the  spot 
Her  love  is  all  for  him. 

But  I've  been  told  a  double  cure : 

I'll  simply  let  her  be 
And  care  no  more,  until  I'm  sure 

Her  love  is  all  for  me. 

And  then  I'll  care  enough  to  say, 
"Go  and  love  him  and  him ! 

For  I  but  loved  you  yesterday — 
According  to  your  whim." 

But  first  I'll  give  her  one  more  chance 

To  prove  her  constancy, 
For,  O,  I  know  it  by  her  glance, 

Her  love  is  all  for  me ! 


[82] 


Dalliance 


THE  SKEPTIC 

WHAT  shall  I  do,  who  may  not  be 
Beside  you  nor  away? 
Away  I  crave  you,  but,  dear  me, 
I  doubt  you  if  I  stay — 

Yes,  doubt  you  with  your  equal  eyes 
Of  knowledge  and  of  youth — 

Your  lovely  wonders  must  be  lies  .  .  . 
And  yet  they  may  be  truth ! 

Too  hopeful  not  to  come  and  see, 

Too  skeptical  to  stay, 
What  shall  I  do  who  may  not  be 

Beside  you  nor  awayl 


[83] 


Grenstone 


A  BALLAD  OF  UNDAUNTED  YOUTH 

AS  soon  as  I  could  stammer 
I  opened  on  the  day, 
For  often  is  adventure 

Begun  in  just  that  way — 
Then  I  held  my  breath  and  listened 
To  hear  what  she  might  say. 

She  lived  in  a  Grenstone  farmhouse, 
Its  chimney-top  just  showed  .  .  . 

We  went  to  it  by  pasture, 

Which  was  -farther  than  by  road; 

Said  Helen,  "You  may  board  there" — 
A  beating  heart's  abode ! 

Her  hand  was  bright  at  breakfast. 

And  sunlight  on  her  head 
I  clearer  saw  at  dinner 

Than  the  butter  on  my  bread. 
And  evenings,  like  a  deaf  man, 

I  heard  her  go  to  bed. 
[84] 


Dalliance 


I  might  have  spent  my  money 
And  my  heart  there  half  a  year, 

For  this  daughter  of  her  father 
Became  so  shrewdly  dear 

That  I  drew  her  never  nearer, 
Though  she  was  ever  near. 

She  would  not  mend  my  yearning, 
She  would  not  break  my  heart, 

She  would  not  let  me  clasp  her 
As  a  death-struck  moth  will  dart 

Into  consuming  brightness 
Till  breath  and  body  part. 

So  I  made  a  formal  offer. 

And  she  answered  that  she  knew 
She  was  likely  to  be  asked  for 

By  suitors  not  a  few — 
An  answer  inoffensive, 

But  discouraging  and  true. 

Wanly  I  thought  about  it, 

Two  weeks  went  by  in  gloom. 
I  refused  to  climb  the  mountain 
[85] 


Grenstone 


With  the  rest,  or  leave  my  room- 
Where  I  thought  of  only  Helen, 
Her  brightness  and  her  bloom  . 

•  Yet  when  to-day  I  saw  her 
Wandering  hand  in  hand 
With  a  foolish  farmer-fellow, 

I  could  not  understand 
How  features  in  a  fortnight 

Could  grow  so  dull  and  bland  .  . 

Not  Helen  but  her  father 

Is  the  person  I  prefer, 
Who  talks  to  us  at  evening — 

The  nation's  arbiter. 
And  though  Helen  often  comments, 

We  never  notice  her. 

But  when  Jean,  the  quiet  sister 
And  exquisite  though  shy, 

Offers  a  thoughtful  question, 
We  always  make  reply  .  .  . 

And  I  watch  Jean  in  her  corner — 
The  corner  of  my  eye. 
[86] 


Dalliance 


WORLD'S  END 

IN  spite  of  Grenstone,  men  will  roam, 
Such  men  as  Hercules — 
But  there  are  orchards  nearer  home 
Which  are  Hesperides. 

Where  can  the  whole  world  farther  lie 
Than  where  these  branches  are 

That  daily  clasp  a  bit  of  sky 
And  nightly  a  star? 

Plucking  gold  fruit  and  great  renown, 
Would  that  be  better  labor 

Than  borrowing  apples  red  and  brown 
From  an  unacquainted  neighbor?  .  . 

O,  where  I  lie  adventure  lies ! 

And  see ! — a  farmer's  wagon 
Conveys  at  last  before  my  eyes 

The  daughters  of  the  dragon. 

[87] 


Gr ens  tone 


And  Jean,  the  lovelier  of  the  two, 
Shall  seek  among  the  trees — 

O,  never  doubt  that  I  shall  do 
As  well  as  Hercules  I 


[88] 


Dalliance 


THE  OLD  MILL 

I  HAD  tried  for  a  kiss  and  been  treated  with 
scorn, 

For  Jeanie  had  seemed  to  see  sin  in  my  wish ; 
But,  never  a  fellow  for  staying  forlorn, 
I  had  tried  to  forget  it  and  fish. 

Just  below  the  old  mill,  where  nobody  goes 
But  one  who  has  need  of  a  healing  shade, 
Of  a  leaf  and  a  bird  and  the  flickering  flows 
In  a  brook — and  of  never  a  maid — 

I  was  borne  like  a  leaf,  in  a  mournful  dream, 
And  was  touching  a  shadowy  bank  of  noon, 
When  I  started  upright  and  I  stared  overstream, 
For  I  heard  a  voice  laughing  a  tune. 

O,  sudden  to  see,  in  the  water's  way, 
Came  Jean,  a  twinkle  of  sun  on  her  face, 
And  wet  to  the  ankle  uttered,  "Good-day," 
With  her  daily  composure  and  grace ! 
[89] 


Grenstone 

And  under  a  willow  that  shivers  and  dips 
I  ran  and  we  met  in  the  midst  of  the  brook, 
And  so  she  forgave  by  the  touch  of  her  lips- 
And  so  what  I  wanted  I  took. 


[90] 


Dalliance 


A  MOMENT 

TIME,  I  caught  it,  fluttering  time, 
I  caught  it  in  my  net. 
Its  two  wings  were  the  perfect  rhyme — 
And  O,  I  have  it  yet 
Where  it  cannot  fly  nor  climb  .  .  . 
The  golden  pin  is  set  I 


[91] 


Grenstone 


SUN  AND  MOON 

WHEN  we  met  where  apple-boughs 
Leaned  to  lure  a  lover's  vows, 
When  the  tiniest  apple-bud 
Was  a  signal  for  the  blood 
To  tingle  in  the  finger-tip 
Or  the  cheek  or  the  lip, 
When  we  felt  all  nature  move 
For  a  final  beat  of  love — 
Then  the  sun  rose  up  to  look 
Dimly,  softly  through  the  trees, 
And  advised  us  in  the  breeze 
To  be  iron,  to  deny. 
Tell  me,  Jean,  O  tell  me  why, 
When  every  little  bird  made  fun 
Of  that  whispering  of  the  sun, 
Why  we  still  should  give  it  heeding 
And  refuse  each  other's  pleading, 
Turn  from  each  and  each  forsake 
And  almost  let  our  two  hearts  break?  .  . 

"Dear! — before  the  sun's  new  rising, 
Is  there  not  a  moon  advising?" 
[92] 


Dalliance 


IN  LOVE 

TO  a  star  cried  a  starling: 
"I  want  to  get  out 
Of  this  cage  all  about, 
O,  I  want  to  get  out, 
Boo-hoo!" 

But  said  I  to  my  darling: 
"This  cage  all  about 
Has  us  in  beyond  doubt, 
But  who  wants  to  get  out ! 
Do  you?" 


[93] 


Grenstone 


YOUNG  EDEN 

FLUSHED  from  an  orchard  flagon, 
My  country-love  and  I 
Sat  by  a  tree,  forgetting 
Old  conscience  and  his  fretting, 
Watched,  where  the  sun  was  setting, 
Trouble  trundle  by — 
Like  some  old  dragon 
Loaded  on  a  wagon 
Drawn  against  the  sky. 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  O! 
Trouble  in  the  sky! 

I  pointed  out  a  dangling  claw; 
She  knew  it  was  only  a  cloud  I  saw, 

But  she  let  me  say  my  say — 
For  the  day,  red-ripe,  was  a  pretty  day 
And  she  thought  my  way  was  a  city  way  .  .  . 
And  she  knew  I  liked  to  have  her  think — while 
each  unhindered  curl 
[94] 


Dalliance 

Glinted  in  the  sunlight,  hinted  of  its  yellow — 
That  I  who  talked  to  such  a  girl 
Was  something  of  a  fellow. 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  Of 
Was  she  really  thinking  so? 

"There's  the  tree,"  I  gaily  told  her, 
"Come,  before  we're  one  day  older! 

Apples,  apples,  at  our  feet, 

We  shall  gather,  we  shall  eat! 
Now's  the  time  for  apple  hunger — 
Not  if  we  were  one  day  younger, 
Younger,  older,  shyer,  bolder, 

Would  an  apple  taste  so  sweet!" 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  Of 
Apples  at  our  feet! 

Bewildered,  she  was  with  me  on  the  run 

Toward  the  tree  that  held  its  treasure  to  the  sun; 

This,  of  all  the  trees  of  treasure,  was  the  one 

Condemning  leisure, 

One  inviting  lovely  pleasure — 
She  was  with  me,  she  was  by  me  on  the  run, 
With  a  cheek  that  turned  its  treasure  to  the  sun. 

[95] 


Grenstone 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  Of 
Raly  O,  we  gaily  go, 
Fol— 

Why  should  she  stop  and  never  speak? 
Why  should  the  color  in  her  cheek 
Change — not  glowing  gay,  but  meek? — 
Deeper,  redder  than  I  knew, 
She  was  mistress  of,  a  hue, 
Though  demurely, 
Richly,  surely 
Rising  in  her  cheek! 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  O! 
The  change  in  her  cheek! 

There  before  us  on  the  ground, 

Eyes  upon  us,  not  a  sound, 

Sat  a  runaway,  a  girl  of  seven  years. 

Her  lap  was  full  of  sunny  gold, 
But  her  eyes  in  the  sun,  her  eyes  were  old, 
Were  sober,  seeming  laden — 
And  such  a  little  maiden — 
Unawares  but  laden 
With  some  dead  woman's  tears. 
[96] 


Dalliance 

F-ol  de  rol  de  raly  Of 
A  child  of  seven  years! 

Some  woman  who  had  watched  and  wept, 

But  had  no  living  speech, 
Watched  and  wept  now  within  that  little  breast, 

Caught  and  caressed 
Those  little  hands  and  would  have  kept 

Beyond  their  reach 
The  anguish  in  that  orchard, 
The  apple-bough  unblessed, 
The  brightness  that  has  tortured 
The  heart  within  the  breast  .  .  . 
And  we  beheld,  can  see  it  even  now, 
A  bent  and  withered  apple-bough 

Of  beauty  dispossessed, 
Which  bore  a  bane  from  long  ago — 
Yet  seemed  to  us,  who  wished  it  so, 

To  bear  the  orchard's  best  .  .  . 
It  was  the  bough  that  leaves  no  rest 
To  the  heart  within  the  breast. 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  Of 
This  heart  -within  the  breast! 
[97] 


Grenstone 

Abashed  and  parting  on  our  ways, 
We  saw  that  woman's  helpless  hand 
Cease  from  making  its  demand 

And  ghostly  fade  and  sad  .   .  . 
We  saw  the  child,  forgetful  of  our  gaze, 
Laughing  like  any  child  that  plays, 

Laughing  in  any  land, 
Lean  and  touch  a  toy  she  had 

Half-hidden  in  her  hand, 
We  saw  her  pat  and  poise  and  raise — 

An  apple  in  her  hand ! 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  Of 

The  apple  in  her  hand!  .  .  . 

Yet  youth  came  back  again  among  the  trees 

To  find  an  apple  of  its  own — 
What  good  are  warnings  given  men 

To  let  that  tree  alone 
And  when  were  women  ever  known 

To  do  but  as  they  please? 
And  so  we  two  came  back  again, 

As  though  we  had  not  known  .  .  . 

Fol  de  rol  de  raly  O! 
For  an  apple  of  our  own! 
[98] 


Dalliance 


BLOW  HOT,  BLOW  COLD 

LAST  night  or  several  nights  ago, 
In  moontime  it  is  hard  to  be  pre 
cise, 

The  twilight  was  a  down  of  snow, 
The  moon  a  blade  of  ice. 
But  we  were  warm. 

Tonight  the  overflowing  moon 
Has  poured  its  mist  and  made  the 

valley  swim 

Through  silent  lengths  of  a  lagoon, 
Warm  and  deep  and  dim. 
But  we  are  cold. 


[991 


Grenstone 


I  WAS  a  god  of  battles  then 
And  governed  as  I  chose 
The  fortunes  of  my  metal  men 
And  conquered  all  my  foes. 

But  now,  no  longer  safe  outside 
Like  that  almighty  elf, 

I  have  forgotten  how  to  guide 
Myself  against  myself ! 


[100] 


Dalliance 


THE  SEEKER 

THE  idiot  came  with  a  bobbing  pace ; 
And  when  I  passed  her  by, 
She  raised  her  head  as  if  to  face 
Asylums  in  the  sky. 

I  looked,  I  stopped,  I  said  good-day, 

I  asked  her  what  she  found. 
Like  stone,  she  would  not  move  nor  say 

A  word  nor  make  a  sound  .  .  . 

Till  suddenly  upon  her  track 

She  turned,  no  longer  dumb, 
And,  answering,  went  ambling  back 

The  road  that  she  had  come. 

She  moaned,  "Dear  me,  I've  lost  the  way, 

Forgotten  it  again !" 
I  wondered  if  I  ought  to  say, 

"So,  madam,  have  all  men." 

[101] 


Grenstone 


GOD'S  FOOL 


I  fell  asleep!— 
And  lost  a  child. 
At  first  I  stopped  to  weep, 

But  now  the  wild 
Nights  know  me,  how  I  keep 

The  signs  compiled  .  .  . 
And  the  first  time  God's  asleep, 
I'll  find  the  child!" 


[102] 


Dalliance 


TREASURE 

A  SHIP  came  in  one  colored  day 
Through  rain  and  sun. 
The  rainbow  waited  in  the  bay — 
The  wealth  was  won. 

Reaching  at  last  the  treasure-pot, 

The  golden  hoard, 
A  ship  came  in  ...  but  there  was  not 

A  soul  aboard. 


[103] 


Grenstone 


THE  RIDER 

I'VE  a  galloping  heart  that  can  never  stay  still, 
But  must  hurry  away  and  be  over  a  hill — 
Though  there's  nothing  to  find  there  but  sunset  or 

rain, 

O  the  beat  of  the  hoofs  of  my  heart  again !  .  .  . 
Ho  for  the  stirrups  and  who  shall  say  stop 
Till  I  look  on  the  sea  from  a  mountain-top ! 

I've  a  limping  heart  that  has  gone  all  day, 

A  heart  that  has  worn  its  breath  away, 

And  every  stone  in  the  path  is  a  pain — 

O  the  drag  of  the  hoofs  of  my  heart  again, 

Limping,  limping,  and  not  any  rest, 

And  the  mountain  still  far  up  in  the  west! 


[104] 


Dalliance 


THE  HEART  OF  GOLD 

I  HAD  a  heart  as  good  as  gold 
For  spending  or  for  buying; 
It  bought  me  many  a  hand  to  hold 
And  many  a  breath  for  sighing. 

It  bought  me  many  a  mouth  to  kiss, 

And  many  a  secret  token — 
O,  what's  the  good  of  all  of  this, 

Now  when  my  heart  is  broken? 

My  heart  that  once,  as  good  as  gold, 
Bought  anything  that  mattered 

Is  like  a  tale  completely  told, 

Like  golden  money  scattered  .  .  . 

But  somewhere  there's  a  heart  so  young 
It  still  can  spare  for  spending, 

Will  sing  the  song  that  I  have  sung, 
Beginning  with  my  ending. 

[105] 


Grenstone 


ONCE  OF  ALL  MY  FRIENDS 

ONCE  of  all  my  friends  and  cronies 
First  was  my  own  heart  and  best, 
But  aggrieved  my  heart  rebuked  me 
And  I  broke  it  in  my  breast. 

Now  my  body  laughs  and  offers 

Any  sum  I  bid  it  lend; 
And  I  borrow  and  I  borrow — 

And  I  spend  and  I  spend. 


[106] 


Dalliance 


THE  DEAD  LOON 

THERE  is  a  dead  loon  in  the  camp  to-night 
killed  by  a  clever  fool, 
And  down  the  lake  a  live  loon  calling. 
The  wind  comes  stealing,  tall,  muscular  and  cool, 
From  his  plunge  where  stars  are  falling — 

The  wind  comes  creeping,  stalking, 

On  his  night-hidden  trail, 

Up  to  the  cabin  where  we  sit  playing  cards  and 

talking. 
And  only  I,  of  them  all,  listen  and  grow  pale. 

He  glues  his  face  to  the  window,  addressing  only 

me, 

Talks  to  me  of  death  and  bids  me  hark 
To  the  hollow  scream  of  a  loon  and  bids  me  see 
The  face  of  a  clever  fool  reflected  in  the  dark. 

That  dead  loon  is  farther  on  the  way  than  we  are. 
It  has  no  voice  with  which  to  answer  while  we 

wait. 

But  it  is  with  me  now  and  with  the  evening  star  . . . 
Its  voice  is  my  voice  and  its  fate  my  fate. 
[  107] 


Grenstone 


I 


OBLIVION 

HEAR  his  claws  in  the  bark 
Crawling  up  the  tree  of  life- 
I  throw  him  all  I  have. 


[108] 


V.     WISDOM  AND  UNWISDOM 


How  we  resolve  and  reason  and  explain 

The  various  ways  we  take  the  sun  and  rain! 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


BEAUTY 

OUT  of  the  deep  August  night  slips  an  ar 
rowy  moment, 
A  shooting-star, 
And,  as  if  that  one  change 
Had  once  more  set  the  firmament  in  motion, 
I  with  the  bright  breath  of  a  poem 
Slipping  to  me  from  the  zenith 
Find  that  I  must  have  wound  the  clock  of  heaven 

without  knowing, 
For  I  can  hear  it  striking 
And  the  north  pole  and  the  south  pole  echoing  in 

unison 
And  glaciers  scampering  away  from  the  sound 

like  rabbits — 

And  I  smile  higher  and  higher 
With  the  key. 


[in] 


Grenstone 


TO  YOURSELF 

TALKING  to  people  in  well-ordered  ways  is 
prose, 
And  talking  to  them  in  well-ordered  ways  or  in 

disordered  outbreak  may  be  poetry. 
But  talking  to  yourself,  out  on  a  country  road,  no 

houses  and  no  hedges  to  conceal  a  listener, 
Only  yourself  and  heaven  and  the  trees  and  a  wind 

and  a  linnet; 
Talking  to  yourself  in  those  long  breaths  that  sing 

or  hum  or  whistle  fullness  of  the  heart, 
Or  the  short  breaths, 
Beats  of  the  heart, 

Whether  it  be  of  sadness  or  a  haystack, 
Mirth  or  the  smell  of  the  sea, 
A  cloud  or  luck  or  love, 
Any  of  these  or  none — 
Is  poetry. 


[112] 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


TO  MYSELF 

I  SPOKE  aloud,  as  a  poet  should, 
What  a  wise  man  ought  to  say, 
And,  though  I  knew  that  it  was  good, 
People  turned  away. 

Then  to  myself  I  breathed  a  word 
Which  I  could  not  understand, 

And  in  a  twinkling  people  heard 
And  took  me  by  the  hand. 

And  by  that  simple  touch  of  hand 

They  answered  my  intent, 
And  I  did  not  have  to  understand 

Exactly  what  I  meant. 


Grenstone 


THE  NEW  LIFE 

PERHAPS  they  laughed  at  Dante  in  his  youth, 
Told  him  that  truth 
Had  unappealably  been  said 
In  the  great  masterpieces  of  the  dead. 
Perhaps  he  listened  and  but  bowed  his  head 
In  acquiescent  honor,  while  his  heart 
Held  natal  tidings  that  a  new  life  is  the  part 
Of  every  man  that's  born, 
A  new  life  and  a  new  expectant  art. 
It  is  the  variations  of  the  morn 
That  are  forever,  more  and  more, 
The  single  dawning  of  the  single  truth  .  .  . 
So  answers  Dante  to  the  heart  of  youth. 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


WISDOM 


OLD  man,  if  I  only  knew 
A  quick  way  to  be  wise  like  you ! 

"Young  man,  this  is  all  I  know 
To  impart  before  I  go : 
You  must  keep  your  goal  in  sight, 
Labor  toward  it  day  and  night, 
Then  at  last  arriving  there — 
You  shall  be  too  old  to  care." 


You  would  even  wiser  be, 

Old  man,  were  you  young  like  me. 


Grenstone 


FOLLY 

MY  sense  is  in  my  lack  of  it — 
The  world  must  have  its  fool — 
Let  others  bear  the  pack  of  it 
In  palace,  church  and  school, 
While,  watchful  in  my  wandering  heart 
And  steadfast  in  my  folly, 
I  come  upon  a  court,  apart 
From  all  their  melancholy  .  .  . 

Kingdom,  but  not  by  track  of  it, 
Entrance,  but  not  by  rule, 
Where  the  gold  is  in  the  lack  of  it 
And  the  crown  is  for  the  fool — 
Where,  for  music,  I  need  only  move 
And  hear  the  praises  ring 
From  every  little  bell  I  love, 
Addressing  me  as  king  1 


[116] 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


A  SAIL 

HEARING  them  snarl  over  bones 
Down  yonder, 
I  will  listen  fonder 
To  the  brawl  that  stones 
Make  in  a  brook, 
Or  lower  my  head 
To  the  smile  of  the  dead 
In  a  quiet  old  book. 


And  I  shall  wander 

Wherever  I  must 

And  trust 

In  the  world,  but  not  ponder 

Nor  dig  golden  gravel 

To  bury  my  face — 

But  from  place  to  green  place 

I  shall  travel. 

[117] 


Grenstone 


What  use 

Is  the  hardness  of  money 

Compared  to  soft  honey? 

It  had  much  better  go  to  the  deuce  !- 

I  shall  sweeten  my  lips,  on  the  va 
grant  trail, 

With  berry  and  fruit-bearing  tree, 

Till  I  come  to  the  edge  of  the  sea — 
And  a  sail  1 


[118] 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


A  GRENSTONE  GLADE 

ON  the  way 
To  a  Grenstone  glade 
Yesterday 
I  met  a  maid 
Who  was  raven-dark, 
And  I  listened  to  her  ditty; 
For  the  maid  was  very 

pretty — 
So  hark ! — 

"Many  things 
Show  us  how 
Love  brings 
Women  woe!" 

On  the  way 

From  a  Grenstone  glade 
I  met  to-day 
Another  maid; 


Grenstone 


She  was  yellow-fair; 
And  I  listened  to  her  ditty; 
For  the  maid  had  very  pretty 
Long  hair: 

"Little  ghosts 
Whisper  how 
Love  costs 
Women  woe!" 

So  they'll  sing ; 
Though  they'll  mean 
Not  a  thing 
That  they  sing, 
Till  they  come 
To  their  own 
And  are  dumb 
And  alone. 


[120] 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


TO  NO  ONE  IN  PARTICULAR 

LOCATE  your  love,  you  lose  your  love ; 
Find  her,  you  look  away  .  .  . 
Though  mine  I  never  quite  discern, 
I  trace  her  every  day. 

She  has  a  thousand  presences, 

As  surely  seen  and  heard 
As  birds  that  hide  behind  a  leaf 

Or  leaves  that  hide  a  bird. 

Single  your  love,  you  lose  your  love, 
You  cloak  her  face  with  clay; 

Now  mine  I  never  quite  discern — •. 
And  never  look  away. 


[121] 


Grenstone 


BE  NOT  TOO  FRANK 

BE  not  too  frank,  if  you  would  reach 
A  woman's  heart,  be  not  too  kind 
Nor  too  severe,  but  keep  your  speech 
And  all  your  manners  uninclined. 

Assert  but  briefly  self-control  ; 
Then  watch  her  come  to  you  intent 
To  give  direction  to  your  soul 
And  make  indifference  different. 


[  122] 


Wisdom  and 
Unwisdom 


THE  NEW  LOVE 

CONTENT  beneath  a  lulling  tree 
That  I  and  crickets  know, 
To  keep  awake,  I  count  the  birds; 
They  twitter  to  and  fro. 

You  think  no  girl  could  ever  love 

So  dull  a  lad  as  this? 
You  never  knew  a  neater  girl 

Than  one  I  used  to  kiss. 

And  yet  I  did  not  dally  long, 
Nor  want  her  here  with  me: 

The  sun  and  I  are  keeping  tryst — 
And  why  should  we  be  three? 


[  123] 


Grenstone 


THE  BALANCE 

LOSE  your  heart,  you  lose  the  maid; 
It's  the  humor  of  her  kind. 
So  trim  the  balance  to  a  shade; 
Keep  your  heart  and  keep  the  maid ! 

Keep  your  heart,  you  keep  the  maid, 
But  yourself  you  cannot  find  .   .   . 
Fling  the  balance  unafraid! 
Find  your  heart — and  lose  the  maid ! 


[124] 


VI. —THE  OLD  CRY 


And  in  the  very  midst  of  explanation, 
We  cry  the  single  cry   of  all  creation. 


The  Old  Cry 


CAPTURE 

A  LITHE,   dark-bodied  fisher-boy,   naked  in 
the  sea, 
One  warm  spring  morning  early,  swimming  far 

out,  caught  his  breath, 
Not  from  a  rush  of  the  sea,  but  from  a  quick, 

bright-bodied  girl 
Who,  laughing  westward  toward  him,  skimmed 

the  waves  with  her  white  feet. 
He  could  not  cleave  the  water,  it  was  iron  at  his 

breast, 
But  he  struck  and  broke  the  coiling  chains  and 

scattered  them  aside 
And  headlong  followed  her  in  the  foam,  and  his 

lips  were  salt  and  sang 
Of  her  beauty.     Plunging  ashore  where  she  had 

vanished  in  the  woods, 
Seizing  his  net  as  though  it  were  his  love  to  cover 

her, 
He  watched  her  where  she  was  running,  lighting 

the  trunks  of  trees  that  she  passed, 
[  127] 


Grenstone 

And  he  gained  on  her,  drew  nearer,  and  the  chase 

was  so  swift 
That  over  many  hills  and  valleys  he  had  followed 

her, 
And  the  wave  was  not  yet  dry  on  his  body,  and 

the  net  he  bore 
Had  not  ceased  dripping.    Then  he  cast  the  net, 

a  silver  maze, 
And  captured  her,  a  rose  of  dew.    I  saw  her  stop 

and  sway, 
For  I  had  roused  when  they  went  by,  and  I  heard 

her  say  to  him, 

Out  on  my  hilltop,  laughing,  "I  am  the  morning- 
sun.     And  you?" 
"I  am  the  morning-sea,"  he  answered  and  he  held 

her  close. 
They  clung  together  breathless  on  the  rim.     It 

was  the  dawn. 


[128] 


The  Old  Cry 


YOUTH 

I  CARE  not  what  you  bring  to  me, 
I  care  not  what  you  take  .  .  . 
Be  nothing  else  but  only  young 

And — though  my  heart  shall  break- 
Be  nothing  else  but  only  young 
And  hear  me  call  you  hither, 
And  count  on  me  to  age  and  die 
Before  your  youth  shall  wither! 


[  129] 


Grenstone 


A  PRAYER  FOR  BEAUTY 

GIVE  her  such  beauty  of  body  and  mind 
As  the  leaves  of  an  aspen  tree 
When  they  vary  from  silver  to  green  in  the  wind, 

And  who  shall  be  lovely  as  she — 
Then  give  her  the  favor  of  harking  to  love 

As  the  heart  of  a  wood  to  the  call  of  a  dove ! — 
And  give  her  the  beauty  of  following  free 
As  a  cloud  in  the  sky  or  a  wave  in  the  sea  1 

Give  her  such  purity  vivid  with  light 

As  the  wonder  of  passion  can  be, 
Aware  in  the  day  and  rapt  in  the  night, 

And  none  shall  be  lovely  as  she ! — 
O,  give  her  the  fortune  a  lover  may  find 

In  the  sharing  of  beauty  of  body  and  mind, 
The  paramount  beauty  of  giving,  that  she 

Shall  immortally  give  it ! — But  give  her  to  me ! 


[130] 


The  Old  Cry 


A  LANE  IN  GRENSTONE 

THE  lane  at  night  is  dimly  lit 
Through  many  a  deepening  tree, 
And  few  there  are  who  travel  it, 
And  none  of  them  with  me. 

But  there's  a  step  I  cannot  learn, 

A  foot  I  cannot  trace, 
Which  follows  me  at  every  turn 

With  faint  familiar  pace. 

Perhaps  forgotten  time  ago 

I  wandered  here  content 
With  one  I  shall  not  fully  know 

Till  all  the  years  are  spent, 

With  someone  who  was  kind  to  me  .  .  . 

But  only  this  is  clear: 
I  wish  that  she  would  let  me  see 

Her  face  and  be  my  dear. 

[130 


Vll.     CELIA 


And  O,  how  suddenly  the  cry  rings  true, 
Changing,  no  longer  saying  I — but  You! 


Celia 


CELIA 

FROM  the  lane  I  turn  to  look, 
Till  my  eyes  are  cool  with  seeing: 
Bright  before  me  comes  a  brook 
Out  of  branches  into  being. 

And  behind  me,  while  I  turn, 
Follows  the  familiar  pace  .  .  . 

Till,  at  last,  I  look  and  learn — 
Seeing  Celia  face  to  face. 

Out  of  whispers  of  concealment, 
Like  the  brook,  my  Celia  slips, 

Bringing  me  the  dear  revealment — 
For  I  ask  her,  and  her  lips 

Tell  me  that  where  leaves  were  green 
Close  beside  her  often  moved 

Some  one  she  had  never  seen, 
Some  one  she  had  always  loved. 

[135] 


Grenstone 


THE  EARLY  GODS 

IT  is  the  time  of  violets. 
It  is  the  very  day 
When  in  the  shadow  of  the  wood 

Spring  shall  have  her  say, 
Remembering  how  the  early  gods 
Came  up  the  violet  way. 

\ 

Are  there  not  violets 
And  gods — 
To-day? 


[136] 


Celia 


INTERPRETER 

WHEN  people  with  their  dollars 
And  their  propriety 
Would  tighten  like  high  collars 

Around  the  neck  of  me, 
I  used  to  journey  out  by  train 

And  tramp  good  miles  of  mud 
To  find  the  world  set  right  again 
In  some  spring  leaf  or  bud. 

But  now  I  need  not  wander 

Remotely  from  my  kind, 
For  I  should  carry  yonder 

But  Celia  in  my  mind. 
And  is  it  sensible,  finding  a  tree 

Pleasanter  than  faces? — 
When  she  combines  humanity 

With  all  the  woodland  places. 


[  137] 


Grenstone 


SEAS  AND  LEAVES 

THEY  had  told  me  of  you,  of  your  beauty, 
But  I  was  skeptical  and  shook  my  head. 
Beauty  was  empty,  I  had  proven;  I  had  followed 

every  beckon  of  it. 

Traversed  the  world  of  it,  touched  all  its  ports 
And — having  touched  them  all  and  come  away 

again — I  was  uncomforted  .  .  . 
"There  is  no  beauty,"  I  believed  and  said, 
"But  at  the  vessel's  prow. 
Only  the  foam  is  beautiful 
That  flies  before  the  voyage  and  is  gone." 

They  had  told  me  of  you,  of  your  wisdom, 

But  I  was  wiser  still  and  shook  my  head. 

For  I  had  listened,  both  in  city  and  in  country, 

On  farms,  at  funerals, 

And  under  trees  and  over  wine  and  through  the 

touch  of  hands, 
To  people  wise  in  all  variety; 
But  none  of  them,  not  one, 
[138] 


Celia 


Had  brought  me  wisdom  to  unwind  the  years 

And  make  a  fair  beginning  toward  some  end  .  .  . 

"There  is  no  wisdom,"  I  believed  and  said, 

"But  in  the  ship's  wake 

Where  the  waves 

Cover  their  noise  again  with  the  great  sea." 

But  I  have  seen  you, 

And  have  heard  you  speak — 

Have  seen  the  rippling  seas  glance  in  your  face 

And  in  your  mouth  have  heard  the  rippling  leaves 

Consult  together. 


[  139] 


Grenstone 


IN  MANY  STREETS 

day  is  over  and  I  have  not  seen  you; 
You  are  away  from  Grenstone  .  .  . 

And  when  I  walked  your  street  awhile, 
I  knew  that  other  men  were  passing  you, 
Not  seeing  you,  not  heeding  you — 
Blinder  than  I  had  long  been  to  your  beauty 
And  deafer  than  I  to  your  wisdom  .  .  . 

Just  as  I  pass  life, 
Unknown  to  me, 
In  many  streets. 


[  140] 


Celia 


YES 

HOW  every  sun  shone  quicker,  every  flame, 
And  every  starbeam  stirred 
When  you  received  me,  when  you  said  my  name 
And  then  the  radiant  word! 

Invisible,  tremendous,  comes  the  night, 

Eternity  .  .  . 
But  I  can  pierce  it  with  enough  of  light 

To  see ! 


[Hi] 


Grenstone 


THE  TOUCH  OF  YOU 

AT  the  touch  of  you, 
As  if  you  were  an  archer  with  your  swift 
hand  at  the  bow, 
The  arrows  of  delight  shot  through  my  body  .  . 

You  were  spring 

And  I  the  edge  of  a  cliff — 

And  a  shining  waterfall  rushed  over  me. 


[142] 


Celia 


ON  EARTH 

IT  is  not  that  your  winding  hair 
Is  blown,  but  that  the  winds  are  there 
O,  let  me  lean  my  throat  to  feel 
Those  fainting  breaths  of  summer  steal 
Into  a  calm — then  gather  fast 
And  rise  into  a  lightning-blast ! 

It  is  not  that  your  breast  is  bare, 

But  the  heart  of  life  is  beating  there  . 

O,  let  me  lean  my  head  and  hark 

To  love  instead  of  any  lark! — 

What  worth  has  heaven's  highest  bird 

When  this  upon  the  earth  is  heard? 


Grenstone 


ROSE-TIME 

WHAT  though  love  require  no  test, 
In  this  rose-time  after  rain 
Let  me  touch  your  hand  again ! — 
Since  caressing  reassures 
Lovers  that  their  love  endures, 
Now,  whatever  dark  may  come, 
Now,  before  our  mouths  are  dumb, 
While  away  the  twilight  slips — 
Celia,  let  me  kiss  your  lips !  .  .  . 
Until  dawn  shall  be  as  blue 
As  the  little  veins  of  you 
At  the  temple  and  the  breast. 


[144] 


Celia 


CHARIOTS 

I   NEVER  saw  the  morning  till  to-day; 
I  never  knew  how  soon  night  went  away- 
Day  merely  came  a  regular  event; 
Night  merely  went  .  .  . 

Now  day  and  night  are  chariots  for  me, 
Since  I  have  learned  their  mystery  from  you: 
Day  holding  one  and  moving  solemnly — 
Night  holding  two. 


[145] 


Grenstone 


WHEN  THE  FIRST  BIRD  SANG 

I  LOVED  you,   loved  you,   with  your  unseen 
eyes 

Sweet  to  my  lips  in  nearnesses  of  night, 
Sweet  to  my  fingers  that  were  trembling  light 
Upon  your  face  to  prove  my  true  surmise 
Of  eyes  that  opened,  witnessing  with  mine. 
There  had  not  been  a  sign  nor  ray  of  sight, 
But  only  love  to  prompt  my  guess  aright !  .  .  . 
Then  dawn  revealed  you  slowly  line  by  line. 

At  first  I  held  away  your  dreaming  face 
From  my  face.    Till  the  dark-blue  light  was  keen, 
Still,  still  I  held  it — though  my  passion  beat 
For  it.    And  then  all  heaven  on  that  place 
Came  down,  since  nothing  ever  to  be  seen 
Again  could  hide  your  eyes,  so  wild,  so  sweet  1 


[146] 


Celia 


SAPPHICS  FOR  CELIA 

(Echoing  the  Greek) 


than  a  harp  is  the  voice  of 
Sappho  .  .  . 
Let  me  swing  the  door  to  the  living  garden-^- 
Let  me  lead  you,  Celia,  where  Sappho  wanders 
Singing  forever. 


Long  ago  I  dreamed,  as  a  little  fellow, 
Dreams  of  rosy  girls  who  were  scornful  of  me, 
Dreams  of  being  mighty  to  win  them  over, 
Making  them  like  me. 


I  remember  later,  in  lusty  boyhood, 
Seeing  certain  faces  indifferent  toward  me 
Soften,  turn  and  offer  themselves  for  kisses, 
Even  unwilling. 

[147] 


Grenstone 

Now,    O    dreams    and    passions,    I    need    your 

magic  .  .  . 

I  have  found  a  woman  to  love  in  terror, 
Terror  lest  at  last  I  be  unavailing, 
Loving  too  deeply. 


II 

I  believe  this  miracle  cannot  happen: 
Any  woman  ever  be  born  to  sunlight 
With  a  gift  of  wisdom,  of  exquisite  wisdom, 
Equal  to  Celia's  .  .  . 

I  believe  that,  hearing  to-day  her  laughter 
Lighter  than  a  harp,  is  to  hear  it  always. 
In  my  spirit's  house  there  caji  be  from  henceforth 
No  lamentation. 


HI 

Love  is  in  her  lips  as  in  apple  blossoms 
Creeps  a  wind,  and  love  is  upon  her  fingers, 
Faint  and  subtle  zephyr  as  ever  followed 
Leaves  that  were  trembling. 
[148] 


Celia 

IV 

He    becomes    a    god    who    has    felt    her    pres 
ence  .  .  . 

Proof  forever  answering  all  the  questions 
Whether  man  shall  die  in  his  earthy  stature, 
Never  be  god-like. 

Made  divine  by  even  a  moment  of  her, 
My  two  arms  can  reach  till  they  touch  the  heav 
ens  .  .  . 

Yet  I  stand  swept  dry  of  my  life,  like  white-burnt 
Grass  in  the  summer. 


Many  stars  which  once  I  beheld  in  heaven, 
Stars  that  shone  with  each  an  especial  brightness, 
Lose  their  fading  gleam  in  a  larger  glory — 
Celia,  the  moonlight. 

VI 

Love  is  good  and  never  a  thing  to  darken, 
Not  a  thing  to  hide  in  a  glance  or  whisper — 
If  his  love  be  true  and  if  she  return  it, 
Then  she  should  tell  me !  ... 


Grenstone 

Not  my  Celia's  voice  but  her  silence  answers 
She  has  only  mercy  for  me  who  doubt  her, 
Only  laughing  patience  for  my  reproaches  .  . 
I  am  contented. 


For  I  see  her  face,  and  forget  all  others, 
Shine  on  only  me  with  restoring  heaven  .   . 
I  am  strong  again  ...   as  an  oak  encounters 
Wind  on  a  mountain. 


VII 

First  the  moon  went  down  and  the  night  was 

empty, 

Then  the  Pleiades  and  the  night  was  empty, 
Then    the    sun    came    up    and    the    dawn    was 

empty  .  .  . 
No  one  beside  me. 


Now  the  moon  has  risen  again  in  fullness, 
Marble-white,  a  temple  of  consecration. 
What  a  night  to  witness  the  seal  of  marriage! 
O,  what  an  altar  I 

[150] 


Cella 

Fools  who  never  loved,  is  the  night  approaching? 
Is  there  in  the  darkness  a  breath  of  roses? — 
Go,  then,  bloom  in  love  and  forever  after 
Sweeten  the  darkness! 


Sweet    is     blown    in     darkness     the    bloom     of 

Sappho.  .  .  . 

Through  the  gate  that  swings  to  her  living  garden 
We  have  entered,  Celia,  where  Sappho  wanders 
Singing  forever. 


Grenstone 


ENCOUNTER 

YOURS  is  a  presence  lovelier  than  death — 
Heavy  with  blossoms,  poignant  of  the  sea  ! 
The  dead  are  magical,  but  O,  your  breath 
Has  given  more  than  lordly  death  to  me  ... 
I  am  your  lover  and  a  cloud  is  my  crest, 
The  headland  is  my  chariot,  my  waves  go  four 
abreast. 

Let  me  be  fleet  and  sunlit  in  your  sight 
A  little  while,  before  I  charge  and  drown  .  .  . 
Then,  O  my  love,  who  have  so  lavished  might 
On  me  that  I  would  strike  mortality  down, 
When  in  the  end  I  fall,  trampled  by  the  sea, 
Slain  by  my  horses — I  shall  know  your  blossoms 
blinding  me. 


Celia 


A  TENT-SONG 

TILL  we  watch  the  last  low  star, 
Let  us  love  and  let  us  take 
Of  each  other  all  we  are. 

On  some  morning  with  that  star 
One  of  us  shall  lie  awake, 
Lonely  for  the  other's  sake. 


[153] 


Grenstone 


UNDER  THE  MOUNTAIN 

UNDER  the  mountain  is  a  lovely  face, 
Under  the  face  a  heart! 
I  have  come  back  again  to  my  own  place  . 

But  soon  I  shall  depart 
Far  from  the  mountain  and  the  face, 
Far  from  the  heart. 


[154] 


Celia 


A  SHEPHERD  OF  STARS 


Y 


ESTERDAY 
I  could  say — 


Stars  are  my  sheep.    Nobody  clips 
Gain  of  my  shepherding. 

The  air  comes  cool  upon  my  lips 
Like  water  from  a  spring, 

And  out  I  stretch  my  finger-tips 
And  count  my  flock  and  sing: 

'Come,  graze  beside  me  on  my  hill, 
You  little  starry  sheep — 

Gather  and  eat  your  silver  fill 
And  call  me  out  of  sleep 

To  trace  you  by  your  silver  trill, 
To  fold  you  in  my  keep." 

Except  myself,  nobody  cares 
How  many  I  shall  bring — 
Save  Celia.    And  no  other  dares 
[155] 


Grenstone 


To  steal  them  while  I  sing  .  .  . 
Yet  toward  a  world  of  common  wares 
The  wind  is  beckoning: 

"O,  come  and  leave  your  silly  sheep 
That  wander  up  and  down, 

That  cannot  even  earn  their  keep, 
O,  come  to  town,  to  town! 

A  countryman  is  counted  cheap, 
A  shepherd  is  a  clown!" 

Stars  are  my  sheep.    Nobody  knows 

How  often  in  the  fold 
I  enter  with  them  when  it  snows 

And  cannot  feel  the  cold — 
And  yet  it  seems  a  wise  man  goes 

Where  wool  and  meat  are  sold. 

And  today 
I  must  say — 

"O  starry  sheep,  good-by,  good-by — 

Your  shepherd  goes  to  town ! 
But  never  one  of  you  shall  die 

To  clothe  and  feed  the  clown — 
For  you  shall  keep  my  hill,  while  I 
Shall  wander  up  and  down." 
[156] 


II.    AWAY  FROM   GRENSTONE 


/.     AN  INLAND  CITY 


After  the  voice  I  had  always  waited  for, 
O  how  can  there  be  distance  any  more? 


An  Inland  City 


MY  CITIZEN 

IF  I  were  in  the  country  now, 
There'd  be  the  roads  and  hills, 
The  grasses  under  sky  and  bough, 
The  brooks  and  straying  rills, 
Where  I  might  come  and  find  a  trace, 
In  every  field,  of  one  dear  face. 

Here  in  the  city  are  but  bars 
To  memories  and  traces, 
Where  in  the  streets  and  in  the  cars 
I  see  a  thousand  faces  .  .  . 
And  yet  when  all  is  said  and  done, 
In  a  thousand  faces  I  see  one. 


[161] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


NO  MAN'S  CLERK 

PERHAPS  tomorrow  he  will  work 
Listlessly  again — 
This  evening  he  was  no  man's  clerk 
He  was  a  king  of  men. 

An  unheroic,  homely  boy, 

Sallow  and  under  size, 
He  passed  me,  bearing  all  the  joy 

Of  history  in  his  eyes. 

I  saw  him  then,  I  see  him  yet, 

The  funny  little  churl, 
In  his  mouth  a  cigarette, 

In  his  eyes — a  girl. 


[162] 


An  Inland  City 


ONE  OF  THE  CROWD 

LONGED,  in  the  woodland  yesterday, 

To  see  the  fauns  come  out  and  play, 
To  see  a  satyr  try  to  seize 

A  dryad's  waist — and  bark  his  knees, 
To  see  a  river-nymph  waylay 
And  shock  him  with  a  dash  of  spray ! — 
And  I  teased,  like  a  child,  by  brooks  and  trees, 

"Come  back  again !    We  need  you !    Please ! 
Come  back  and  teach  us  how  to  play!" 
But  nowhere  in  the  woods  were  they. 

I  found,  when  I  went  in  the  town  to-day 

A  thousand  people  on  their  way 
To  offices  and  factories — 

And  never  a  single  soul  at  ease; 
And  how  could  I  help  but  sigh  and  say, 

"What  can  it  profit  them,  how  can  it  pay 
To  strain  the  eye  with  rivalries 

Until  the  dark  is  all  it  sees? — 
Or  to  manage,  more  than  others  may, 

To  store  the  wasted  gain  away?" 
[163] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 

But  one  of  the  crowd  looked  up  to-day, 
With  pointed  brows.     I  heard  him  say, 
"Out  of  the  meadows  and  rivers  and  trees 

We  fauns  and  many  companies 
Of  nymphs  have  come.    And  we  are  these, 

These  people,  each  upon  his  way, 
Looking  for  work,  working  for  pay — 

And  paying  all  our  energies 
To  earn  true  love  .  .  .  for,  seeming  gay, 

We  fauns  were  sad,"  I  heard  him  say. 


[164] 


An  Inland  City 


WITH  A  COPY  OF  "A  SHROPSHIRE  LAD" 

I  SEND  to  you  a  Shropshire  lad, 
Who's  half-way  gay  and  half-way  sad 

He  whistles  of  the  lasting  sleep 

A  melody  to  hear  and  keep, 

Beguiling  you  the  little  while 

You've  need  to  sigh  and  chance  to  smile, 

And  whistles  next  of  happy  things 
That  each  unhappy  waking  brings, 
Until  you've  half  forgotten  why 
You've  need  to  smile  and  chance  to  sigh. 

You'll  find  him  always,  gay  or  sad, 
A  friendly  little  Shropshire  lad. 


[165] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


A  JUSTICE  REMEMBERS  LINCOLN 
OU  said: 


Y 


"He  was  not  a  gentleman. 
But  he  dropped  into  my  office  one  day, 
As  politicians  did  when  they  came  to  town, 
And  in  my  rocking-chair 
Eased  his  long  legs 
And  crossed  his  shins 
And  settled  down. 

"My  partners  noted  shrewdness  in  him 
And  laughed  when  his  large  loose  lips 
Rolled  and  relished  the  ends  of  stories 
Like  the  ends  of  cigars, 
But  for  me  the  cigar-stubs  were  vile. 
All  my  ancestors  rose  in  me  against  him, 
And  I  said  to  them  in  my  soul, 
'It  is  the  penalty, 

It  is  what  comes  of  politics  in  a  republic.' 
[166] 


An  Inland  City 

"After  some  years  I  awoke  one  morning 
And  said  to  the  ancestors  in  my  soul, 
'It  is  the  end, 

The  end  of  the  republic' — 
For  I  knew  that  morning, 
With  a  mortal  sickness  of  pity  for  my 

countrymen, 
That  they  had  elected,  as  their  president 

for  four  years, 
The  vulgarian — 
Abraham  Lincoln. 

"And  he  went  on  in  the  White  House, 
Even  into  a  second  term, 
Lolling  his  legs, 
And  applying  his  shrewdness, 
And  telling  his  stories, 
And  being  judged. 

"And  then  he  was  shot  and  buried  .  .  . 

"And  after  a  few  years, 
By  another  President, 
[167] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


A  gentleman, 

I  was  appointed  to  a  seat  for  life 

In  the  Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States.' 

You  smiled. 


[168] 


H 


An  Inland  City 


HOBBLEDEHOY 

OBBLEDEHOY,  neither  man  nor  boy, 
With  a  burden  of  pain  and  a  purpose  of 


With  a  heart  and  a  hunger  of  God's  alloy, 
He's  a  lad  whom  the  jungle  and  heaven  decoy. 
There's  God  and  the  devil  in  Hobbledehoy! 

What  shall  we  do  when  Hobbledehoy, 
With  the  zest  of  a  beast  to  possess  or  destroy, 
Is  tripped  in  his  track  for  the  hunting  of  joy? 
What  shall  we  do  when  the  beast  in  the  boy 
Calls  out  to  the  devil  in  Hobbledehoy? 

Shall  we  punish  the  nature  of  Hobbledehoy, 
Cage  and  encourage  it  forth  to  destroy?  — 
Or  quicken  the  pain  in  him,  quicken  the  joy, 
The  pang  of  the  birth  of  the  man  from  the  boy  ! 
Shall  we  give  him  the  devil?  —  Hobbledehoy? 


[169] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


A  POET  lived  in  Galilee, 
Whose  mother  dearly  knew  him — 
And  his  beauty  like  a  cooling  tree 
Drew  many  people  to  him. 

He  loved  the  speech  of  simple  men 
And  little  children's  laughter, 

He  came — they  always  came  again. 
He  went — they  followed  after. 

He  had  sweet-hearted  things  to  say, 

And  he  was  solemn  only 
When  people  were  unkind  .  .  .  that  day 

He'd  stand  there  straight  and  lonely, 

And  tell  them  what  they  ought  to  do: 

"Love  other  folk,"  he  pleaded, 
"As  you  love  me  and  I  love  you!" 
But  almost  no  one  heeded. 
[  170] 


An  Inland  City 


A  poet  died  in  Galilee, 

They  stared  at  him  and  slew  him 
What  would  they  do  to  you  and  me 

If  we  could  say  we  knew  him? 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


THE  DEATH-BED  OF  A  CERTAIN  RICH 

MAN 

WHERE  they  have  left  me,  cold  upon 
the  bed, 

I  am  not  breathing,  but  I  am  not  dead — 
Blind,  I  see  the  thorns  upon  a  head, 
Motionless,  I  travel,  inward  bound, 
Deaf,  I  hear  a  penetrating  sound 
Of  voices  risen  from  the  silent  ground. 
His  voice,  the  Nazarene's,  in  theirs  renewed, 
Speaks  and  encircles  me,  a  multitude, 
'We  are  the  Christ  you  never  understood. 
We  gave  you  all  the  love  there  is,  to  do 
Our  work  with;  but  you  hoarded  it  and  knew 
Only  yourself,  not  us,  and  lived  untrue 
To  your  great  privilege.     Now,  when  you  lie 
So  still  that  you  can  hear  us — tell  us  why!' — 
O  Christ,  I  thought  you  were  only  one.     I  die." 


[  172] 


//.     WEST 


Can  prairies,  towns  and  mountains  separate 
Wisdom  from  wisdom,  answering  mate  from  mate? 


West 


I  TURN  AND  FIND  YOU 

MILES  from  you  I  turn  and  find  you, 
My  beloved.    And  your  gaze 
And  the  ripple  of  your  garment 

And  your  unexpected  ways 
Of  approaching  and  of  speaking 

And  the  breath  of  your  hair 
Are  as  real  to  me  as  rain  is 
Through  hot  summer  air. 

In  far  companies  I  meet  you 

Moving  natural  and  clear, 
Coming  toward  me  in  your  beauty  .  .  . 

O,  be  careful,  they  will  hear, 
They  will  look  at  us,  these  others, 

They  will  listen  when  your  hand 
Touches  tumult  on  my  shoulder — 

Like  the  surf  on  the  sand! 


[175] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


KANSAS 

WHEN  you  had  come  through  Kansas 
To  your  New  Hampshire  hills, 
Their  roundnesses,  their  cloistered  roads, 
Their  sharpnesses,  their  rills, 

An  empty  area,  nothing  else, 
These  reaches  seemed  to  you; 

But  here  in  Kansas  where  you  were 
I  am  in  Grenstone  too, 

And  yet  not  out  of  Kansas 

No  matter  where  I  go — 
For  I  will  add  to  my  own  land  now 

This  easy  ample  flow, 

Will  add  to  my  New  England 

This  openness  as  clear 
On  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven, 

No  hills  to  interfere. 
[176] 


West 


Wave  after  wave  in  Kansas 
A  wisdom  comes  to  me 

From  the  levels  of  the  world, 
Consoling  as  the  sea. 


[177] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


THE  HILLS  OF  SAN  JOSE 

I  LOOK  at  the  long  low  hills  of  golden  brown 
With  their  little  wooded  canyons 

And  at  the  haze  hanging  its  beauty  in  the  air — 

And  I  am  caught  and  held,  as  a  ball  is  caught 
and  held  by  a  player 

Who  leaps  for  it  in  the  field. 

And  as  the  heart  in  the  breast  of  the  player  beats 
toward  the  ball, 

And  as  the  heart  beats  in  the  breast  of  him  who 
shouts  toward  the  player, 

So  my  heart  beats  toward  the  hills  that  are  play 
ing  ball  with  the  sun, 

That  leap  to  catch  the  sun  from  your  hills 

Or  from  you 

And  to  throw  it  to  other  hills — 

Or  to  me ! 


[178] 


West 


A  BAZAAR  BY  THE  SEA 

SCENT  of  sunken  wood  and  wind  wet  with 
weeds  and  lifting  spray, 

Bitter  with  a  wandered  tear  from  some  deep  for 
gotten  face 
That  has  lain  and  weary  turned,  whiter,  cleaner, 

day  by  day 

With  the  quiet  nether  waves  in  a  wilderness  of 
space : 

How  you  haunt  my  mouth  and  hold  my  heart  and 

mortify  my  soul 
With  a  sense  of  women  lying  faint  and  lonely  in 

the  sea, 
While  the  waters  that  have  wasted  them,  arising 

from  them,  roll 
Shadows  of  them  on  the  shore  and  their  loveliness 

to  me. 

I  have  bought  their  broken  beauty  and  have  won 
dered  all  the  time 

Whether  you  I  love  shall  ever  lie  releasing,  with 
a  moan, 

[  179  ] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 

For  strange  hands  to  purchase  and  for  strange  lips 

to  rhyme, 
Pearls  and  corals,  corals,  pearls,  changing  from 

your  blood  and  bone! 


[180] 


West 


THE  GOLDEN  GATE 

THERE  comes  a  breath  of  Celia  through  the 
sky  .  .  . 

The  sun  is  setting  pallid  as  a  moon 

Behind  the  airy  mountains  of  the  fog. 

Clouds  march  in  wonder  through  the  Golden  Gate. 

The  base  of  Tamalpais,  reaching  down, 

Alters  its  outline  to  a  cloud.    Bright  rocks, 

With  eddies  gathered  round  them  and  with  gulls 

Huddled  along  their  tops,  vary  and  jut; 

The  crowds  of  water  toppling  high  with  foam 

Crumble  and  fall  and  mingle  and  are  gone, 

And  bubbly  spindrift  pulses  on  the  sand. 

A  small  wild-aster  glimmers  from  the  cliff, 

Two  shadowy  sea-birds  hasten  to  the  sea. 

And  in  the  hush  a  song-sparrow  begins 

To  sing  of  Celia  by  her  inland  rill, 

And  through  the  mingled  blue  of  bay  and  sky 

The  moon  is  risen  golden  as  a  sun  .  .  . 

Earth  and  the  sun  and  moon  and  you  and  I. 
[1*1] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


MY  COUNTRY 

A  FLAG  above  me  and  an  evening  gun 
Are  not  my  country's  colors  and  salute 
This  is  my  country's  reach,  the  sea  and  sky, 
These  are  her  cannon  booming  on  the  shore. 


[182] 


West 


TRAIN-MATES 

OUTSIDE   hove    Shasta,    snowy  height   on 
height, 

A  glory;  but  a  negligible  sight, 
For  you  had  often  seen  a  mountain-peak 
But  not  my  paper.    So  we  came  to  speak  .  .  . 

A  smoke,  a  smile, — a  good  way  to  commence 
The  comfortable  exchange  of  difference ! — 
You  a  young  engineer,  five  feet  eleven, 
Forty-five  chest,  with  football  in  your  heaven, 
Liking  a  road-bed  newly  built  and  clean, 
Your  fingers  hot  to  cut  away  the  green 
Of  brush  and  flowers  that  bring  beside  a  track 
The  kind  of  beauty  steel  lines  ought  to  lack, — 
And  I  a  poet,  wistful  of  my  betters, 
Reading  George  Meredith's  high-hearted  letters, 
Joining  betweenwhile  in  the  mingled  speech 
Of  a  drummer,  circus-man,  and  parson,  each 
Absorbing  to  himself — as  I  to  me 
And  you  to  you — a  glad  identity! 
[183] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 

After  a  time,  when  the  others  went  away, 
A  curious  kinship  made  us  choose  to  stay, 
Which  I  could  tell  you  now;  but  at  the  time 
You  thought  of  baseball  teams  and  I  of  rhyme, 
Until  we  found  that  we  were  college  men 
And  smoked  more  easily  and  smiled  again; 
And  I  from  Cambridge  cried,  the  poet  still: 
"I  know  your  fine  Greek  theatre  on  the  hill 
At  Berkeley!"    With  your  happy  Grecian  head 
Upraised,  "I  never  saw  the  place,"  you  said — 
"Once  I  was  free  of  class,  I  always  went 
Out  to  the  field." 

Young  engineer,  you  meant 
As  fair  a  tribute  to  the  better  part 
As  ever  I  did.     Beauty  of  the  heart 
Is  evident  in  temples.     But  it  breathes 
Alive  where  athletes  quicken  curly  wreaths, 
Which  are  the  lovelier  because  they  die. 
You  are  a  poet  quite  as  much  as  I, 
Though  differences  appear  in  what  we  do, 
And  I  an  athlete  quite  as  much  as  you. 
Because  you  half-surmised  my  quarter-mile 
And  I  your  quatrain,  we  could  greet  and  smile. 
[184] 


West 


Who  knows  but  we  shall  look  again  and  find 
The  circus-man  and  drummer,  not  behind 
But  leading  in  our  visible  estate — 
As  discus-thrower  and  as  laureate? 


[185] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


SHASTA 

THE  canyon  is  deep  shade  beneath 
And  the  tall  pines  rise  out  of  it. 
In  the  sun  beyond,  brilliant  as  death, 
Is  a  mountain  big  with  buried  breath — 
Hark,  I  can  hear  the  shout  of  it! 


The  engine,  on  the  curve  ahead, 

Turns  into  sight  and  busily 
Sends  up  a  spurt  out  of  a  bed 
Of  coal  that  lay  for  centuries  dead 
But  now  recovers  dizzily. 


What  shall  I  be,  what  shall  I  do 

In  what  divine  experiment, 
When,  ready  to  be  used  anew, 
I  snap  my  nursing-bonds  in  two 
And  fling  away  my  cerement? 
[186] 


West 


Shall  my  good  hopes  continue  still 

And,  gathering  infinity, 
Inhabit  many  a  human  will? —    . 
An  Indian  in  me,  toward  that  hill, 

Conceives  himself  divinity. 


[187] 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

POOR  as  I  am  in  what  men  count 
As  fortune,  lacking  in  the  goods 
And  gains  that  make  men  paramount — 
When  I  inquire  of  fields  and  woods 
For  happiness,  they  tell  me  true 
How  rich  I  am  in  only  you. 

Far  as  I  am  from  you  this  day, 

Impatient  of  the  distance,  fain 

To  lessen  it  and  ease  the  way 

With  lesser  loves — I  learn  through  pain 

The  comprehension,  old  and  new, 

Of  being  near  to  only  you. 

Dumb  as  I  was  when  I  would  tell 
My  gratitude  and  voice  my  love — 
Your  voice  was  in  me  like  a  bell 
At  mass  when  congregations  prove 
Their  souls  in  silence.     I  could  do 
No  better  than  be  dumb  to  you. 
[188] 


West 


Brief  as  I  am  in  my  essay 
Of  life  and  love — I  importune 
No  more  and  I  have  put  away 
Impatience.     I  have  touched  my  boon, 
My  proof,  my  vision  through  the  blue — 
Eternity  is  only  you. 


[189] 


///.    SOUTH 


Some  of  love's  words  I  missed  when  I  was  near- 
I  must  be  far  from  them,  to  hear  them  clear. 


South 


A  TORCH 

THE  sun  at  last 
Gilds  me  again, 

And  my  face  is  no  more  a  white  stalk  of  celery 
But  a  golden  mango, 
And  the  foot-tracked  mud  of  my  heart 
Is  sunk  deep  down 
In  the  blue  waters  and  purified 
With  coral  .  .  . 

Cranes  carry  peace  to  the  east  and  the  west — 

Celia,  Celia, 

The  thought  of  you  stands  clear  by  the  mangroves, 

A  torch, 

A  flamingo! 


[  193] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


HONEYCOMB 

I'M  goin'  back  a-lookin'  for  the  honeycomb, 
Back  to  the  jungle,  'way  back  home — 

"The  honeycomb  that's  growin'  in  the  holes  o' 

trees 
An'  you  reach  it  by  a-scrabblin'  up  wi'  both  your 

knees 
While  you  whistle  'bout  yo'  baby  to  keep  away 

the  bees. 

"I'm  goin'  where  the  honey  crackles  in  the  mouth, 
Back  to  the  jungle,  'way  back  south — 

"For  southern  comb  is  sweeter'n  northern  chew- 

in'-gum 
An'  when  you  call  the  yaller-birds,  they  always 

come, 
An'  if  they  see  the  honey,  they  ask  you  for  some. 

"Back  there  in  the  jungle,  'way  back  home, 
I'm  goin'   to  spend  my  old  age   eatin'  honey 
comb — 

[  194] 


South 

"Bananas  an'  watermelons,  pineapples  an'  fruit 
An'  all  the  birds  o'  paradise  a  livin'  man  can 

shoot, 

An'  I'll  eat  'em  while  a-leanin'  on  a  mangrove- 
root. 

"An'  when  I've  had  a  plenty,  'way  back  south, 
There's  goin'  to  come  a  angel  an'  kiss  me  on 
the  mouth — 

"A  angel  with  a  big  wing  both  sides  her  head, 
The  front  feathers  white  an'  the  hind  feathers 

red, 
It'll  be  the  kiss  o'  heaven  that'll  make  me  glad 

I'm  dead. 

"An'  I  won't  have  to  hunt  no  mo'  back  home, 
With  a  angel  every  side  o'  me — bringin'  hon 
eycomb." 


[195] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


A  MOCKING-BIRD 

AN  arrow,  feathery,  alive, 
He  darts  and  sings — 
Then  with  a  sudden  skimming  dive 

Of  striped  wings 
He  finds  a  pine  and,  debonair, 

Makes  with  his  mate 
All  birds  that  ever  rested  there 
Articulate. 

The  whisper  of  a  multitude 

Of  happy  wings 
Is  round  him,  a  returning  brood, 

Each  time  he  sings. 
Though  heaven  be  not  for  them  or  him 

Yet  he  is  wise 
And  tiptoes  daily  on  the  rim 

Of  paradise. 


[196] 


South 


GOOD-MORNING,  MR.  MOCKING-BIRD 

GOOD-MORNING,  Mr.  Mocking-Bird. 
"Your  own  good-morning,  sir,  to  you  I" 
There  never  was,  upon  my  word, 
A  single  song  so  true — 

Yet  I  am  told  you  pilfer  songs, 
Yes,  any  song  you  chance  to  hear, 
And  never  doubt  if  it  belongs 
To  you,  you  buccaneer. 

"But  tell  me,  sir,  if  I  am  deft 
At  adding  songs  to  my  own  store 
And  yet  if  all  the  songs  are  left 
Just  as  they  were  before, 

"And  if  I  fly  about  and  love 
Beauty  as  any  bird  has  lief, 
The  song  of  whip-poor-will  and  dove 
And  thrush, — am  I  a  thief? 

[  197] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


'Of  course,  dear  sir,  you  never  heard 
A  song,  a  single  song,  so  true!" 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Mocking-Bird. 
"Good-morning,  sir,  to  you!" 


[198] 


South 


A  GRENSTONE  ELM 

WHEN  I  watched  an  elm,  a  Grenstone  tree, 
Curtain  a  star  to  bed, 
I  thought  of  the  swinging  stars  at  sea, — 
Wished  I  were  there  instead. 

But  now  when  I  watch  the  open  dome 

Of  the  big  and  lonely  sea, 
And  think  of  the  Grenstone  elm  at  home, 

Home's  the  place  for  me ! 


[199] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


O  TAKE  ME  UP  TO  GRENSTONE 

OTAKE  me  up  to  Grenstone ! — 
Monadnock  leads  the  way 
Where  the  stars  are  in  the  evening 

And  the  birds  are  in  the  day, 
Where  friends  are  in  their  gardens 

And  little  children  play — 
O  take  me  up  to  Grenstone 
And  I'll  never  come  away, 
Never,  never! 

O  take  me  up  to  Grenstone 

Where  the  sun  is  in  the  sky 
And  where  Celia  loves  to  wander 

Just  as  worshipful  as  I, 
Where  the  mountain  leans  and  comforts 

When  little  children  die — 
O  take  me  up  to  Grenstone! 

Could  I  ever  tell  you  why? — 
Ever,  ever? 

[  200  ] 


IV.    A  CITY  BY  THE  SEA 


Above   the    noise   of   countless   busy    men, 
The  voice  I  love  whispers  again — again! 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


PRESENCE 

WHATEVER  I  may  see, 
Of  old  or  new 
Or  good  or  evil  or  unknown, 
Partakes  of  you 
To  be  made  whole — 
Can  only  be 
Your  flesh,  your  bone, 
Celia,  your  soul. 


[203] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


TO  A  PAINTER 

WHERE  that  corner-house  then  stood, 
Where  your  room  was,  and  our  talks, 
Laths  and  doors  and  tumbled  bricks 
Pile  their  dust  upon  the  walks — 

Thrown  by  no  slow  touch  of  time, 
No  quick  blast  of  magic  fire, 
But  by  sure,  destroying  hands, 
Hands  of  builders,  building  higher. 

But  the  builders,  with  their  derricks, 
They  shall  never  reach  so  high 
As  the  blue-ascending  tower 
We  were  building  in  the  sky. 

Never  seeing  what  we  built  there 
Higher  than  in  all  the  lands, 
Yet  they  cannot  change  our  corner 
Where  a  topless  tower  stands. 

[204] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


APOLLO  TROUBADOUR 

WHEN  a  wandering  Italian 
Yesterday  at  noon 
Played  upon  his  hurdy-gurdy 
Suddenly  a  tune, 

There  was  magic  in  my  ear-drums: 
Like  a  baby's  cup  and  spoon 
Tinkling  time  for  many  sleigh-bells, 
Many  no-school,  rainy-day-bells, 
Cow-bells,  frog-bells,  run-away-bells, 
Mingling  with  an  ocean  medley 
As  of  elemental  people 
More  emotional  than  wordy — 
Mermaids  laughing  off  their  tantrums, 
Mermen  singing  loud  and  sturdy, — 
Silver  scales   and  fluting  shells, 
Popping  weeds  and  gurgles  deadly, 
Coral  chime  from  coral  steeple, 
Intermittent  deep-sea  bells 
Ringing  over  floating  knuckles, 

[205] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


Buried  gold  and  swords  and  buckles, 
And  a  thousand  bubbling  chuckles, 
Yesterday  at  noon, — 
Such  a  melody  as  star-fish, 
And  all  fish  that  really  are  fish. 
In  a  gay,  remote  battalion 
Play  at  midnight  to  the  moon! 

Could  any  playmate  on  our  planet, 
Hid  in  a  house  of  earth's  own  granite, 
Be  so  devoid  of  primal  fire 
That  a  wind  from  this  wild  crated  lyre 
Should  find  no  spark  and  fan  it? 
Would  any  lady  half  in  tears, 
Whose  fashion,   on  a  recent  day 
Over  the  sea,  had  been  to  pay 
Vociferous  gondoliers, 
Beg  that  the  din  be  sent  away 
And  ask  a  gentleman,  gravely  treading 
As  down  the  aisle  at  his  own  wedding, 
To  toss  the  foreigner  a  quarter 
Bribing  him  to  leave  the  street; 
That  motor-horns  and  servants'  feet 
Familiar  might  resume,  and  sweet 
[206] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


To  her  offended  ears, 

The  money-music  of  her  peers! 

Apollo  listened,  took  the  quarter 
With  his  hat  off  to  the  buyer, 
Shrugged  his  shoulder  small  and  sturdy, 
Led  away  his  hurdy-gurdy 
Street  by  street,  then  turned  at  last 
Toward  a  likelier  piece  of  earth 
Where  a  stream  of  chatter  passed, 
Yesterday  at  noon; 
By  a  school  he  stopped  and  played 
Suddenly  a  tune  .  .   . 
What  a  melody  he  made  I 
Made  in  all  those  eager  faces, 
Feet  and  hands  and  fingers! 
How  they  gathered,  how  they  stayed 
With  smiles   and  quick  grimaces, 
Little  man  and  little  maid! — 
How  they  took  their  places, 
Hopping,  skipping,  unafraid, 
Darting,  rioting  about, 
Squealing,  laughing,  shouting  out! 
How,  beyond  a  single  doubt, 
[207] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


In  my  own  feet  sprang  the  ardor 

(Even  now  the  motion  lingers) 

To  be  joining  in  their  paces! 

Round  and  round  the  handle  went, — 

Round  their  hearts  went  harder; — 

Apollo  urged  the  happy  rout 

And  beamed,  ten  times  as  well  content 

With  every  son  and  daughter 

As  though  their  little  hands  had  lent 

The  gentleman  his  quarter. 

(You  would  not  guess — nor  I  deny — 

That  that  same  gentleman  was  I!) 

No  gentleman  may  watch  a  god 
With  proper  happiness  therefrom; 
So  street  by  street  again  I  trod 
The  way  that  we  had  come. 
He  had  not  seen  me  following 
And  yet  I  think  he  knew; 
For  still,  the  less  I  heard  of  it, 
The  more  his  music  grew: 
As  if  he  made  a  bird  of  it 
To  sing  the  distance  through  .  .  . 
And,  O  Apollo,  how  I  thrilled, 
[208] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


You  liquid-eyed  rapscallion, 

With  every  twig  and  twist  of  spring, 

Because  your  music  rose  and  filled 

Each  leafy  vein  with  dew — 

With  melody  of  olden  sleigh-bells, 

Over-the-sea-and-far-away-bells, 

And  the  heart  of  an  Italian, 

And  the  tinkling  cup  and  spoon, — 

Such  a  melody  as  star-fish, 

And  all  fish  that  really  are  fish, 

In  a  gay  remote  battalion 

Play  at  midnight  to  the  moon! 


[209] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


TO  A  FIELD-SPARROW 

/CHIRPING  frequenter  of  meadow  and  tree, 
V->4       Merry  confrere  of  the  mowing, 
Here  in  New  York,  where  awhile  I  must  be, 
I  remember  your  coming  and  going. 

Clearer  I  hear  you  than  clocks  in  their  towers 

As,  singing  the  city  to  scorn 
In  a  flourishing  business  of  grasses  and  flowers, 

You  scatter  the  minting  of  morn. 

And  so  in  my  bath-tub  I  sing  with  a  will 
And  I  hum  in  the  heart  of  the  town 

And  try  to  be  happy  as  though  I  could  trill 
With  a  whistle  of  feathery  brown, 

As  though  I  could  nest  in  a  nook  of  the  sky 
Or  swing  there  and  dive  in  the  blowing — 

Accepting  and  singing  without  caring  why 
And  letting  who  will  do  the  knowing. 
[210] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


WHAT  MAN  CAN  CALL  ME  CAPTIVE? 

"TT7HAT  man  can  call  me  captive? — who  am 
»   *          free 

To  cross  the  bridge  afoot  at  six  o'clock, 
To  loose  myself  along  that  human  sea; 

Or  else,  at  midnight,  high  above  a  dock 
Of  darkness — small,  remote,  unreal,  beneath — 
Upon  my  brow  to  bear  the  stars,  a  fresh  and  liv 
ing  wreath. 

"Is  this  a  captive? — who  at  slightest  cost 

Sailing  the  harbor  in  the  twilit  air, 
Sees  the  young  Venice,  whom  the  world  had  lost, 

Breathlessly  lift  her  might  again,  and  wear 
Her  flowing  jewels  with  a  wiser  grace 
Than  if  she  had  not  changed  her  century  and 
dwelling-place. 

"Is  this  a  captive? — whom  the  seventh  day 
Can  lead  upon  the  headlands  and  the  crags, 

[211] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 

Show  him  the  river,  open  him  the  way 

To  all  the  wide-flung  gates  and  high-blown 

flags 

Of  liberty — and,  as  the  sunset  falls, 
Stretch  for  his  worship,  overstream,  beauty  of 
roofs  and  walls. 

"A  thousand  streets  are  mine.    Or,  if  I  choose, 

They  all  shall  lead  me  to  an  outer  place ; 
Where  I  shall  cover  miles  of  beach  and  muse 
Upon  the  windy  world  that  woos  my  face 
With  buffets — crying  back :     'Am  I  not  he 
Who,  having  served  the  city,  by  the  city  is  set 
free!'" 


[212] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


A  SPRING-SONG  IN  A  CAFE 


A 


S  gray,  on  the  table,  lay  his  hand 

As  the  root  of  a  tree  in  a  barren  land, 
Or  a  rope  that  lowers  the  dead. 


As  gray  as  a  gravestone  was  his  head, 
And  as  gray  his  beard  as  dusty  grain; 
But  his  eyes  were  as  gray  as  the  rain — 

As  gray  as  the  rain  that  warms  the  snow, 
The  bridegroom  who  brings,  to  the  grass 

below, 
A  breath  of  the  wedding-day. 

O,  his  eyes  were  the  gray  of  a  rain  in  May 
That  shall  quicken  and  mate  a  dead  May- 
queen, 

Shall  waken  and  marry  a  queen  of  the  May 
When  all  the  graves  are  green! 


[213] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

TO  the  highest  bidder, 
Your  birthplace,  Walt  Whitman, 
Under  the  hammer  .  .  . 

The  old  farm  on  Paumanok,  north  of  Huntington, 
Its  trees, 

Its  leaves  of  grass ! 
Voices    bid    and    counterbid    over    those    ninety 

acres  .  .  . 

And  your  own  voice  among  them,  like  an  element, 
Roaring  and  outbidding. 


[214] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


ISRAEL 

THE  shaken  beauty  of  a  race 
Was  centered  in  that  single  face, 
And  the  ancestral  woes  were  there 
Deep  in  a  weeping  shroud  of  hair; 
The  captive  glory  of  her  head 
Was  Israel  live,  and  Israel  dead. 

No  title  once  the  earth  could  tell 
So  proud  as  born  in  Israel. 
Tonight  I  saw  that  pride  of  old, 
In  the  contempt  with  which  she  sold 
Cheap  in  a  modern  market-place 
The  attar  of  a  bruised  race. 

I  saw  a  king  who  kissed  in  awe 
Those  eyes,  and  on  her  cheek  I  saw 
The  singing  lips  of  a  shepherd-boy 
Give  kisses  twelve  for  very  joy; 
But  red  as  a  sun  in  time  of  drouth, 
Was  Judas  burning  on  her  mouth. 
[215] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


Lost  was  her  visage,  like  a  moon, 
And  through  her  shame  in  misty  swoon, 
Moved  with  a  less  illustrious  light, 
But  with  the  same  immortal  might, 
Now  drawing  men  to  appraise  a  face, 
That  once  drew  God  to  choose  a  race. 


[216] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


ACROSS  THE  COUNTER 

YOU  call  me  stingy,  do  you,  Sam? 
Well,  that's  the  kind  of  girl  I  am. 

"Look,  there's  the  man  who  owns  the  store, 

A  moral  man,  they  say; 
Packs  of  money — spot  his  pearl — 
But  it  kind  of  makes  me  sore 

What  he  gives  us  for  our  pay, 
.  Working  all  these  hours  a  day. 

"About  that  supper?    I  don't  know. 
O,  well — don't  get  so  fierce !    I'll  go. 

"Ain't  there  nothing  more  in  life 

But  drudgery  and  food? 
Wish  to  God  he'd  ask  me  out — 
I'd  tell  him  things  to  think  about! 
But  no,  he's  faithful  to  his  wife. 
I  guess  he's  never  understood 
That  that  ain't  all  of  being  good. 

I'm  sorry,  ma'am.    What  kind  of  fur? 
I  had  another  customer." 
[217] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


HOME 

YOU  ask  me  why  I  give  him  all 
My  earnings  and  luck-money  too, 
And  sin  and  suffer  for  his  gain? 
I'll  answer  you. 

"A  lilac  grew  not  far  from  home, 

The  way  we  children  always  went — 
He  beats  me  if  I  buy  or  borrow 
Lilac  scent." 


[218] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


UNION  SQUARE 

TWO  hags  were  huddled  side  by  side 
At  dawn  in  Union  Square, 
Corrupt  and  silent.    One  had  died. 
The  other  waited  there. 

One  of  them  now  lay  at  rest 

From  her  nocturnal  beat, 
Newspapers  round  her  face  and  breast, 

Her  bonnet  at  her  feet. 

The  other — sunken  was  her  head, 
Her  smile  was  drunk  and  dreary — 

Not  even  knowing  what  she  said, 
Called  to  me,  "Hullo,  dearie  1" 


[219] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


DIANA  CAPTIVE 

(The  Saint-Gaudens  Figure} 

CAPTIVE,  she  hunts  on  her  tower, 
Caught  in  her  turning  flight 
From  the  covert  of  her  bower 
To  the  covert  of  the  night. 

Again  the  rising  day 

Renews  her  in  the  sky, 
Her  hand  still  poised  the  way 

Her  arrow  used  to  fly. 

Still  the  winds  about  her 

Are  winding  sun  and  rain; 
Still  they  will  not  doubt  her 

The  mistress  of  the  vane. 

They  bring  to  eyes  of  gold 

The  flashing  of  a  fawn, 
They  sing  the  call  of  old 

To  feet  as  white  as  dawn. 
[  220  ] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


But  toward  a  final  goal, 
With  blindly  turning  face, 

Diana,  like  the  soul, 

Goes  captive  on  her  chase. 


[221] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


A  NIGHT-THOUGHT 

IT'S  night,  and  I  turn  to  the  park  to  rest 
From  the  motor-cars  of  day, 
And  the  moon  is  here  and  manifest, 
Which  I  thought  was  far  away. 

And  how  I  wish  this  quivering  bough 

Were  over  Celia  too! 
But  the  miles  are  as  many  to  Grenstone  now 

As  moons  like  this  are  few. 

O  time  of  youth,  and  O,  the  keen 

Word  we  never  have  said! — 
The  distance  that  can  come  between 

The  living  and  the  dead! 


[  222  ] 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


THE  PATH 

I  SHALL  see  the  path  to  enter 
From  the  window  of  the  train- 
Near  the  station,  Grenstone  Center, 
And  I'll  enter  it  again. 

Never  was  another  village 

.Just  that  far  and  just  that  size, 
In  the  midst  of  happy  tillage, 
In  the  hilly  land  of  skies, 

With  each  vigilant  white  steeple 
Like  a  shepherd  in  the  sun 

Shepherding  especial  people, 
Calling  to  them  one  by  one — 

Calling  vainly  to  the  dearest 

Of  the  villagers,  to  you, 
For  the  hymns  are  always  clearest, 

You  have  told  me,  with  a  view — 
[223] 


Away  from 
Grenstone 


And  on  Sundays  you  have  hid  you 
Where  the  columbine  and  fern 

Wave  you  on  and  on,  to  bid  you 
Face  the  mountain  at  the  turn  .  .  . 

How  I'll  hurry  to  be  out  there 
When  my  troubles  loose  their  hold ! 

Knowing  nestling  all  about  there 
Nooks  of  green  and  nooks  of  gold. 

O,  if  ever  was  a  yellow 

Nest  of  summer  in  the  sun 

Dearly  loved  of  any  fellow — 
Grenstone,  Grenstone  is  the  one  I 


[224] 


u 


A  City  by 
the  Sea 


JOURNEY 

NTIL  I  reach  her  window-sill 
The  whole  wide  world  is  standing  still. 


Some  sun  more  lovely  overhead 

Is  shining  on  my  lover — 
So  what  to  me  this  pebbly  bed 

That  waters  wander  over. 
And  what  to  me  this  rippling  spread 

Of  timothy  and  clover? 

What  music  has  the  hermit-thrush, 

He  might  as  well  be  still, 
What  color  in  the  evening  hush, 

What  calm  upon  the  hill, 
Until  I  see  the  climbing  bush 

Beside  her  window-sill? 

O,  is  there  any  means  of  grace 
Except  in  seeing  Celia's  face? 

[225] 


III.    GRENSTONE  AGAIN 


/.     CELIA 


Each  of  love's  lovely  words  but  makes  the  rest 
The  lovelier — till  all  are  loveliest. 


Celia 


o 


JOURNEY'S  END 

HEDGE  so  thick,  how  can  I  wait!- 
Open,  open,  little  gate ! 


And  let  me  gain  you,  my  delight, 
White  rose  with  thorny  dart, 

And  hold  you  all  the  summer  night 
Close  to  my  beating  heart — 

For  there  has  been  too  much  of  light 
Keeping  us  apart  .  .  . 

Hark,  in  the  dawn,  the  thrush  begins, 
After  the  whip-poor-will  I — 

And  day,  awaking  lovers,  wins 
Its  way  upon  the  hill; 

And  the  cunning  spider  lurks  and  spins; 
But  we  dream  still  .  .  . 

That  death  is  only  a  pilgrim  star — 
Whose  journey's  end  is  where  we  are. 

[231  ] 


Grenstone  Again 


GRENSTONE 

I  FACE  the  ancient  mountain 
And  the  little  modern  town, 
Monadnock  over  Grenstone, 
And  my  head  bows  down. 

It's  like  old-fashioned  praying: 
To  let  the  forehead  bend 

In  suddenness  and  silence, 

And  to  find  the  town  a  friend 

And  to  be  upheld  by  a  mountain, 
Till  troubles  end. 


[232] 


Celia 


LEST  I  LEARN 

THE  tick  of  time  is  less  acute 
Than  the  most  trivial  word  you  say- 
More  wonderful  than  Eden's  fruit 
Your  lips  each  moment  of  the  day! 

Lest  I  learn,  with  clearer  will, 
Such  wonder  cannot  be, 
Kiss  me,  Celia,  nearer  still, 
And  make  a  fool  of  me ! 

Rarer  than  comets  waited  for 
Or  rays  of  dawn  in  all  the  lands, 
Move  your  two  feet  upon  the  floor, 
Gleam  the  ten  fingers  of  your  hands. 

Lest  I  learn,  with  clearer  sight, 
Such  wonder  cannot  be, 
Pull  a  bandage,  bind  it  tight, 
Blind  me — I  would  not  see! 

[233] 


Grenstone  Again 


BEYOND  A  MOUNTAIN 

SOMEWHERE  beyond  a  mountain  lies 
A  lake  the  color  of  your  eyes — 
And  I  am  mirrored  like  a  flight 
Of  swallows  in  that  evening-light. 

Lovers  eternal,  side  by  side, 
Closed  in  the  elemental  tide, 
Nurture  the  root  of  every  land — 
So  is  my  hand  within  your  hand. 

Somewhere  beyond  an  island  ships 
Bear  on  their  sails,  as  on  your  lips 
You  bear  and  tend  it  from  the  sun, 
The  blossom  of  oblivion. 

Eternal  lovers,  in  whom  death 
And  reaching  rains  have  mingled  breath, 
Are  drawn  by  the  same  draught  apart — 
So  is  my  heart  upon  your  heart. 

[234] 


Celia 


Somewhere  beyond  a  desert  rolls 
An  ocean  that  is  both  our  souls — 
Where  we  shall  come,  whatever  be, 
I  unto  you,  you  unto  me. 


[  235  1 


Gr ens tone  Again 


THE  MYSTIC 

BY  seven  vineyards  on  one  hill 
We  walked.    The  native  wine 
In  clusters  grew  beside  us  two, 
For  your  lips  and  for  mine, 

When,  "Hark!"  you  said— "Was  that  a 
bell 

Or  a  bubbling  spring  we  heard?" 
But  I  was  wise  and  closed  my  eyes 

And  listened  to  a  bird. 

For  as  summer-leaves  are  bent  and  shake 
With  singers  passing  through, 

So  moves  in  me  continually 
The  winged  breath  of  you. 

You  tasted  from  a  single  vine 
And  took  from  that  your  fill — 

But  I  inclined  to  every  kind, 
All  seven  on  one  hill. 

[236] 


Celia 


BREATH 

WHEN  so  I  lean  my  hand  upon  your  shoul 
der, 

When  so  I  let  my  fingers  fall  forward 
To  the  delicate  arch  of  the  breath, 
To  this  most  palpable  cover  and  mold 
Of  the  waves  of  life, 
It  is  not  you  nor  love  I  love — but  life  itself. 

I  look  at  you  with  a  stranger,  older  intimacy, 

I  forget  who  you  are  whom  I  love, 

With  your  temporal  face, 

I  forget  this  or  any  of  the  generations 

And  its  temporal  face 

And  the  lovely  curious  fallacy  of  choice  .  .  . 

Beyond  the  incomprehensible  madness 
Of  the  shoulder  and  the  breast, 
Above  the  tumult  of  obliteration, 
I  sow  and  reap  upon  the  clouded  tops  of  moun 
tains 

[237] 


Grenstone  Again 

And  am  myself  both  sown  and  harvested, 
And,  from  afar  off,  I  behold,  forget,  achieve, 
You  and  myself  and  all  things, 
When  so  I  let  my  hand  fall  forward 
To  the  remote  circumference  of  breath. 


[238] 


//.     NEWS 


If  a  tale  of  doom  arrive — love,  hearing  it, 
Can   make   the  deathful  tidings  exquisite. 


News 


PASSING  NEAR 

I  HAD  not  till  to-day  been  sure, 
But  now  I  know: 
Dead  men  and  women  come  and  go 
Under  the  pure 
Sequestering  snow. 

And  under  the  autumnal  fern 

And  carmine  bush, 
Under  the  shadow  of  a  thrush, 

They  move  and  learn; 

And  in  the  rush 

Of  all  the  mountain-brooks  that  wake 

With  upward  fling, 
To  brush  and  break  the  loosening  cling 

Of  ice,  they  shake 

The  air  with  spring! 

I  had  not  till  to-day  been  sure, 

But  now  I  know : 
Dead  youths  and  maidens  come  and  go 

Beneath  the  lure 

And  undertow 

[  241  ] 


Grenstone  Again 


Of  cities,  under  every  street 

Of  empty  stress, 
Or  heart  of  an  adulteress — 

Each  loud  retreat 

Of  lovelessness. 

For  only  by  the  stir  we  make 

In  passing  near 
Are  we  confused  and  cannot  hear 

The  ways  they  take 

Certain  and  clear. 

To-day  I  happened  in  a  place 

Where  all  around 
Was  silence;  until,  underground, 

I  heard  a  pace, 

A  happy  sound — 

And  people  there,  whom  I  could  see, 

Tenderly  smiled, 
While  under  a  wood  of  silent  wild 

Antiquity 

Wandered  a  child, 
[242] 


News 


Leading  his  mother  by  the  hand, 

Happy  and  slow, 
Teaching  his  mother  where  to  go 

Under  the  snow  .  .  . 
Not  even  now  I  understand. 

I  only  know. 


[243] 


Grenstone  Again 


"THEY  BROUGHT  ME  BITTER  NEWS" 

THEY  told  me,  Jack,  that  you  were 
dead  .  .  . 

How  could  I  answer  what  they  said 
Or  stay  indoors  that  night  to  look 
In  any  face  or  any  book! — 
I  fumbled  at  the  pasture-bars, 
I  climbed  the  hill  and  faced  the  stars. 

Then  from  the  Grenstone  lights  that  lay 
As  if  they  touched  the  Milky  Way, 
You  followed  me  when  I  looked  back  .  .  . 
And  I  laughed  out  loud  because  you,  Jack, 
Were  death  forever  and  for  aye 
And  left  me  nothing  sad  to  say. 


[244] 


w 


News 


THE  FLING 

E  pondered  much,  old  friend,  on  what  was 

known 
To  us  of  truth; 
And  then  we  let  it  well  alone 
And  went  along  with  youth! 

"Life  and  death  shall  be  one  to  us, 

We  still  would  say, 
"Though  death  seem  different"  ...  as  it  does 

To-day. 

And  yet  I  fling  reminders  to  the  grave 

Of  how  we  laughed,  we  two, 
As  hand  in  hand  we  met  the  mortal  wave — 

That  first  has  covered  you. 


[245] 


Grenstone  Again 


TIDINGS 

GONE,  but  beside  me  in  the  upper  air; 
Silent,  but  singing;  vivid,  though  unseen; 
You  have  not  left  me  here  but  found  me  there: 
That,  O  my  friend,  is  what  your  whisperings  mean. 

Whisper  them  often,  lest  by  learning  well 
The  simple  satisfaction  of  our  end, 
You  find  through  this  brief  time,  no  need  to  tell 
Eternity's  good-tidings  to  a  friend. 


[246] 


News 


AN  ANGEL 

OTHING  so  falls  from  us  as  idleness 

When  we  are  dead." 
Who  he  was  I  can  only  guess, 
But  that  is  what  he  said. 


[247] 


Grenstone  Again 


GRIEVE  NOT  FOR  BEAUTY 

GRIEVE  not  for  the  invisible,  transported 
brow 

On  which  like  leaves  the  dark  hair  grew, 
Nor  for  the  lips  of  laughter  that  are  now 
Laughing  inaudibly  in  sun  and  dew, 
Nor  for  those  limbs,  that,  fallen  low 
And  seeming  faint  and  slow, 
Shall  soon 
Discover  and  renew 
Their  shape  and  hue — 
Like  birches  varying  white  before  the  moon 
Or  a  wild  cherry-bough 
In  spring  or  the  round  sea — 
And  shall  pursue 

More  ways  of  swiftness  than  the  swallow  dips 
Among,  and  find  more  winds  than  ever  blew 
To  haven  the  straining  sails  of  unimpeded  ships. 


[248] 


News 


THREE  POPLARS 

THREE  poplars  paused  beside  a  brook 
Before  the  autumnal  mountain, 
Then  bowed  to  me,  and  undertook 
The  dance  of  death  and  shone  and  shook 
Like  waters  in  a  fountain. 

O,  high  the  happy  bosom  heaves 

When  love  is  in  the  dancer! 
But  life  falls  quiet  as  the  leaves, 
And  soon  the  dance  of  death  bereaves 

A  lover  of  his  answer. 

Lightly  a  girl  had  danced  away 
Her  breath  and  all  her  laughter; 

A  boy  went  joining  her  one  day; 

And  a  little  fellow,  at  his  play, 
Saw  them  and  followed  after  .  .  . 

And  now  three  poplars  poised  and  shook 

Like  waters  in  a  fountain 
And,  iridescent,  undertook 
The  dance  of  death  beside  a  brook 

Between  me  and  the  mountain. 
[249] 


///.     HAND  IN  HAND 


A  lover,  with  new  eyes,  can  turn  and  see 
All  men  companions  in  his  destiny. 


Hand  in  Hand 


THE  CALENDAR 

CELIA,  my  calendar,  declaring  clear 
That  gladness  is  in  season  all  the  year, 

You  tell  for  me  the  springtime; 

When  through  sweetened  air 
We  follow  over  Grenstone  hills — 

And  find  youth  everywhere. 

You  tell  for  me  the  summer, 

The  blueness  of  sky, 
The  refuge,  the  open  bower 

Above  adversity. 

And  when  you  count  the  autumn, 

Soft  in  your  lips  I  hear, 
And  in  the  whisper  of  the  hills, 

A  little  unborn  year  .  .  . 

And  when  you  count  the  winter, 

The  drift,  the  fold, 
We  find  old  age  a  hidden  hearth — 

Though  the  winds  blow  cold. 

So  you  recount  our  footsteps  on  a  star 
Outshining  death,  Celia,  my  calendar! 

[253] 


Grenstone  Again 


LITTLE  PAN 

OUT  on  the  hill — by  an  autumn-tree 
As  red  as  his  cheek  in  the  weather — 
He  waved  a  sumac-torch  of  glee 

And  preened,  like  a  scarlet  feather, 
A  branch  of  maple  bright  on  his  breast 

And  shook  an  oak  in  his  cap; 
And  the  dance  of  his  heels  on  the  rocky  crest 
Was  a  woodpecker's  tap-tap-tap. 

The  eyes  of  a  squirrel  were  quick  in  his  head 

And  the  grace  of  a  deer  in  his  shoulder, 
And  never  a  cardinal  beckoned  so  red 

As  his  torch  when  he  leapt  on  a  boulder; 
A  robin  exclaiming  he  mocked  in  a  voice 

Which  hurried  the  heavens  around  him. 
What  could  we  do  but  attend  and  rejoice, 

Celia  and  I  who  had  found  him  I 

He  spied  us  at  last,  though  we  hid  by  a  pine ; 

And  before  he  might  vanish  in  smoke 
I  tried  to  induce  him  to  give  us  a  sign, 
But  he  stopped  in  his  dance  when  I  spoke — 
[254] 


Hand  in  Hand 

"O  tell  me  your  name  and  the  hill  you  inhabit!" 

He  curled  round  his  tree  like  a  cat; 
"They  call  me,"  he  cried,  as  he  fled  like  a  rabbit, 
"Donovan's  damned  little  brat!" 


[2551 


Grenstone  Again 


GOD'S  ACRE 

BECAUSE  we  felt  there  could  not  be 
A  mowing  in  reality 
So  white  and  feathery-blown  and  gay 
With  blossoms  of  wild  caraway, 
I  said  to  Celia,  "Let  us  trace 
The  secret  of  this  pleasant  place!" 
We  knew  some  deeper  beauty  lay 
Below  the  bloom  of  caraway, 
And  when  we  bent  the  white  aside 
We  came  to  paupers  who  had  died: 
Rough  wooden  shingles  row  on  row, 
And  God's  name  written  there — John  Doe. 


[256] 


Hand  in  Hand 


TO  ANYONE 

WHETHER  the  time  be  slow  or  fast, 
Enemies,  hand  in  hand, 
Must  come  together  at  the  last 
And  understand. 

No  matter  how  the  die  is  cast 

Nor  who  may  seem  to  win, 
You  know  that  you  must  love  at  last — 

Why  not  begin? 


[257] 


Grenstone  Again 


WAR 

FOOLS,  fools,  fools, 
Your  blood  is  hot  to-day. 
It  cools 
When  you  are  clay, 

It  joins  the  very  clod 
Wherein  at  last  you  see 
The  living  God, 
The  loving  God, 
Which  was  your  enemy. 


[258] 


Hand  in  Hand 


THE  FAITH 

WHETHER  she  guide  me  through  my  days, 
Or  lead  me  to  the  night, 
My  step  shall  be  a  song  of  praise, 

An  echo  of  her  own  delight; 
For  now  assuredly  I  know, 
(Her  mere  existence  proves  it  so) 
Though  less  than  ever  understood, 
Because  of  Celia,  God  is  good. 

There  is  more  learning  in  her  lips 

Than  in  great  companies, — 
No  tower  between  the  stars'  eclipse 

Gathers  remoter  rarities 
Than  those  that  on  her  brow  are  rare 
As  blossoms  in  a  moonlit  air, 

Than  those  that  sparkle  on  her  brow 

Like  moonlight  on  an  apple-bough. 

If  wise  men  speak  a  final  word 

Her  silence  is  a  better, 
Yet  many  a  little  chirping  bird 

Is  much  my  Celia's  debtor; 

[259] 


Grenstone  Again 

Whether  she  speak  or  hold  her  tongue, 
It  seems  alike  a  hymn  is  sung — 

As  though  her  pause  and  her  remark 
Circled  in  worship,  like  a  lark. 

If  truth  be  not  the  truth  she  knows, 

Let  me  not  find  it  out — 
She  is  my  faith  and  my  repose, 

My  spirit's  forward  battle-shout. 
It  matters  not  what  things  may  be, 
All  things  are  authorized  for  me : 

The  simple  motion  of  her  nod 

Cannot  be  anything  but  God. 


[260] 


IF.     WOMEN 


And  women  are  his  awe:  so  that  he  pays 
New  homage  and  new  service  all  his  days. 


Women 


IN  THE  COOL  OF  THE  EVENING 

SHE 


B 


UT  tell  me,  Adam — while  I  watch  your  face 
Turn   to    the   moon    and   me — when   have 


we  seen 
The    God   who   made    us    and   who   made   this 

place  ? — 

We  say  we  love   Him  .  .  .  Tell  me  what  we 
mean! 

HE 

I  have  not  seen  Him.     But  the  thunder-clap 
Is  His  right  hand,  I  think,  holding  the  sword 
Of  lightning — and  when  trees  are  running  sap, 
My  veins  are  running  fire  before  the  Lord. 

SHE 

Can  that  be  love? — which  never  sees  nor  knows, 
But  thinks  it  counts  the  deadly  thunder  dear, 
Which  feels  vague  passion  when  the  spring-sap 

flows — 

But  cannot  tell  its  rapture  from  its  fear? 
[263] 


Grenstone  Again 

HE 

I  fear  Him  less  than  if  He  answered  you 
With  lightning  ...  If  He  gave  to  me  great  store 
Of  fruits,  for  loving  Him,  and  you  but  few, 
For  doubting  Him,  then  I  should  love  Him  more. 

SHE 

The  fruits  are  for  us  both.    And  as  they  spring 
From  one  another,  so  creation  grows 
And  teaches  us  that  every  living  thing 
Adam  may  know  as  the  creator  knows. 

HE 

Sharp  in  the  tree  the  lightning  stood,  to  shame 
And  punish  us!  ...  This  is  His  garden,  Eve, 
Which  He  prepared  for  us  before  we  came, 
And  we  are  nourished  only  by  His  leave ! 

SHE 

Then  let  us  go  outside! — let  us  rejoice 
To  find  with  our  own  hands  new  bread  and  wine 
And  certain  love  each  in  the  other's  voice!  .  .  . 
.  .  .  How  I  have  quieted  your  mouth  with  mine ! 
[264] 


Women 

HE 

But  how  shall  we  succeed,  beginning  late? 
Water  and  meat  are  here  and  grapes  and  corn 
And  there  is  nothing  further  to  create. 
The  world  is  made  and  you  and  I  are  born. 

SHE 

He  is  but  one — and,  Adam,  we  are  two ! 
Let  us  remake  the  world  and  take  the  rod ! 
So  let  our  fire,  filling  my  life  with  you 
And  yours  with  me,  create  a  greater  God! 


[265] 


Grenstone  Again 


RESPONSES 

WHAT  can  a  woman  find  in  us, 
What  has  her  wit  divined  in  us? 
The  utmost  and  the  least  in  us — 
The  angel  and  the  beast  in  us." 

"What  can  a  man  descry  in  us 
And  so  allow  the  lie  in  us?  .  .  . 
The  serpent  and  the  dove  in  us — 
And  O,  the  mother-love  in  us." 


[266] 


Women 


ANNUNCIATION 

(Sung  by  the  Voices  of  the  Unborn) 


O    WOMEN,  wonder-bringers,  wakeners  of 
earth, 

We  who  are  about  to  live  salute  youl 
Angelic  presences  foretell  our  birth 
To  you,  shaking  your  hearts  with  awe, 
Transfiguring  your  faces  with  the  pity 
Which  is  God,  thrilling  your  hands  to  write  the 

law 

On  many  a  mountain  and  to  bring  it  thence 
To  many  a  waiting  city, 
Till  there  shall  be  no  other  punishments 
But    love,    no    lovelier    potencies    than    human 

birth. 

The  old  who  are  about  to  die  dispute  you. 
But  we  who  are  about  to  live  salute  you, 
O  women,  wonder-bringers,  wakers  of  earth! 
[267] 


Grenstone  Again 


Think  not  of  pain  in  store  for  us  nor  of  our  death, 

But  only  of  our  life.     Give  us  your  breath 

With  all  its  hope  unbroken. 

Believe  in  us,  that  in  our  later  time 

We  may  believe  in  you. 

Plant — in  the  mud  about  you  and  the  grime — * 

Seeds  of  the  sublime, 

And  if  your  faith  is  more  than  dreamed  and 

spoken, 

As  you  have  done  so  shall  we  dare  to  do. 
Out  of  your  faith  make  deeds,  O,  make  the  world 

with  it,  and  thus, 
An  image  and  a  token 
Of  your  faith — make  us  I 

3 

To  our  own  mothers  are  we  born, 
Also  to  many  mothers:  yea, 
To  you  who  build  beyond  your  walls  and  doors 
A  cradle  of  the  world, 
A  home,  a  park,  a  confidence,  a  joy; 
You  who  have  patiently  unfurled 
The  gleaming  flags  of  peace; 
[268] 


Women 

And  you,  beloved,  with  no  girl  or  boy 

Singled  from  all  of  us ;  and  you  whose  loves  wan 
dered  away, 

Whom  you  shall  rather  glorify  than  mourn  .  .  . 

Now  generations  shall  be  born  of  us  and  none 
dispute  you, 

O  women,  wonder-bringers,  wakeners  of  earth! 

Destiny  pours 

Its  fullness  through  you  in  our  bir* 

And  shall  not  cease. 

For  we  who  are  about  to  live  salute  you — 

We  are  yours! 


[269] 


V.    LOSING  CELIA 


How  could  I  know  that  darkness  would  close  in 
On  everything  that  shall  be  or  has  been! 


Losing  Celia 


THE  NIGHT 

I  HAVE  so  loved  life  that  when  night  is  deep 
I  shall  but  fall  asleep 
As  a  lover's  eyes  grow  dim 
With  his  beloved  lying  close  to  him. 


[273] 


Grenstone  Again 


I  HEARD  HER  SING 

SHE  sang  of  life,  mating  an  ancient  word 
With  modern  music  in  her  own  wise  way. 
Her  voice  was  like  a  little  breeze  that  stirred 
The  snows  of  yesterday. 

Ladies  and  lovers,  each  forgotten  ghost  .  .  . 

Her  voice,  with  names  remembered  from  the 

dead, 
Singing  their  epitaph,  and  Helen's  most, 

Was  like  a  heart  that  bled. 

In  her  the  poet  sang  again  his  dream 

Of  what  had  been  and  nevermore  should 
be  ... 

And  out  of  far  away  her  voice  would  seem 
Like  sails  upon  the  sea. 

And  while  she  finished  with  their  dreams  and 

loves, 
And  the  wind  disposed  of  fortune  and  of 

fame, 

Her  voice  was  Venus,  led  by  little  doves, 
Breathing  a  holy  name. 
[274] 


Losing  Celia 

Helen  and  Phryne  and  Semiramis, 

Renewed  and  glorious  in  her,  were  here  .  .  . 
And  yet  her  voice,  when  she  had  proven  this, 

Was  like  a  fallen  tear. 


[275] 


Grenstone  Again 


SURETY 

CELIA,  we  have  each  other's  love, 
A  love  that  flies  on  wings  of  light 
From  star  to  star  and  sings  above 

The  night: 
We  bid  each  other's  eyes  reveal 

The  God  whose  images  we  are; 
We  find  each  other's  hand  upon  the  wheel 
Piloting  every  star  .  .   . 

Should  I  then  face  with  a  less  lonely  breath 
Your  gradual,  sudden,  everlasting  death?  .  .  . 

O,  lest  a  separating  wind  assail 

The  jocund  stars  and  all  their  ways  be  dearth, 
And  love,  undone  of  its  immense  avail, 

Go  homeless  even  on  earth, 
Let  us  be  constant,  though  we  travel  far, 

With  the  little  earthly  tokens  of  our  trust. 
And  not  forget,  piloting  any  star, 

How  dear  a  thing  is  dust! 

[276] 


Losing  Celia 

FAREWELL 

VAREWELL    should   be    an    easy   word   to 

say  .  .  . 
It  seemed  to  be  for  Celia  yesterday. 


F 

•*•          say 


Although  we  guessed  how  soon  she  was  to  die, 
Celia  was  laughing  when  we  said  good-by. 


[277] 


Grenstone  Again 


AT  THE  LAST 

THERE  is  no  denying 
That  it  matters  little, 
When  through  a  narrow  door 
We  enter  a  room  together, 
Which  goes  after,  which  before. 

Perhaps  you  are  not  dying: 

Perhaps — there  is  no  knowing — 

I  shall  slip  by  and  turn  and  laugh  with  you 

Because  it  mattered  so  little, 

The  order  of  our  going. 


[278] 


Losing  Celia 


HIC  JACET 

SHE  who  could  not  bear  dispute 
Nor  unquiet,  now  is  mute; 
She  who  could  not  leave  unsaid 
Perfect  silence,  now  is  dead. 


[279] 


Grenstone  Again 


DISTANCE 

ONE  day  I  walked  alone  from  our  dear  place 
For  miles.    And  by  the  corner  of  a  hill 
I  saw  the  chimney  and  your  window-sill 
And  all  the  steps  that  it  would  take  to  fill 
The  wide  and  wooded  intervening  space. 
But  I  consoled  my  spirit:  Peace,  be  still! — 
And  soon  went  home  again — and  saw  your  face. 

One  night  we  walked  those  miles,   before  you 

died  .  .  . 
How  it  comes  back  .  .   .   and  how  I  touch  your 

hair — 

Yet  you  seem  farther  away,  in  the  night  air, 
Than  home,  our  happy  place  .   .   .   aware 
Of  you,  I  am  without  you,  you  abide 
In  mystic  distance  that  I  cannot  fare — 
For  all  we  cling  so  closely  side  by  side. 


[280] 


Losing  Celia 


THERE  IS  NOT  ANYTHING 

THERE  is  not  anything 
I  would  not  do, 
Just  to  be  journeying 
Again  with  you. 

There  is  not  anything 

I  would  not  be, 
To  have  you  journeying 

Again  with  me. 

But  nothing  I  can  do 

Or  be  will  bring 
A  word  or  sign  from  you, 

Not  anything. 


[281] 


Grenstone  Again 


IT  IS  NOT  SHE ! 

I  THINK  she  enters  at  the  door, 
I  hold  my  breath  to  hear  .   . 
Learn,  foolish  ears,  that  nevermore 
Can  Celia  come  so  near. 

And  now  she  passes  in  the  street — 
I  start  around  to  see  .  .  . 

But  O,  you  quick  impulsive  feet, 
Turn  back! — it  is  not  she. 


[282] 


Losing  Celia 


ALOOF 

BROOK,  how  aloof  your  heart  has  grown 
That  closely  beat  with  her  and  me ! — 

Am  I  the  only  one 

Remembering,  of  us  three? 

Stars  now  cold  as  stone, 

Once  warm  as  she, 
What  have  you  done 

To  me? 


[283] 


Grenstone  Again 


TRYST  IN  GRENSTONE 

HERE,  where  many  a  time  we  met 
With  many  a  mortal  vow 
Never  either  to  forget, 
Celia,  though  the  leaves  are  wet, 
Is  waiting  for  me  now. 

None  for  company  has  she 
But  Grenstone  trees  around, 

Where  she  waits  and  waits  for  me, 

While  I  come  and  cannot  be 
The  few  feet  underground. 


[284] 


Losing  Celia 


SENTENCE 

SHALL  I  say  that  what  heaven  gave 
Earth  has  taken? — 
Or  that  sleepers  in  the  grave 
Reawaken? 

One  sole  sentence  can  I  know, 

Can  I  say: 
You,  my  comrade,  had  to  go, 

I  to  stay. 


[285] 


VL     FINDING  CELIA 


There  is  no  death  for  lovers — //  there  shine 

Such  light  through  others'  darkness  as  through  mine. 


Finding  Celia 


THE  WIND  AT  THE  DOOR 

THE  wind  is  rattling  at  the  door 
With  all  his  vim. 

"Dance  with  me  down  the  shore,"  he  says. 
But  I  will  not  dance  with  him. 

I  will  wait  with  you  in  your  place  of  death, 
Although  I  know 

How  alive  the  wind  would  greet  my  face 
If  I  should  go. 

I  will  stay  with  you  where  the  light  is  half, 
As  by  a  pool  at  evening  in  a  wood  .   .   . 
Or,  Celia,  shall  we  laugh  again? 
Can  tears  do  good? 

Shall  you  not  come  and  share  with  me  anew 
All  that  we  had  and  more — 
And  let  the  wind  touch  my  face  too? — See 
...  I  open  the  door.  .  .  . 

Dancing  again  with  the  wind,  with  you, 
Dancing  down  the  shore! 
[289] 


Grenstone  Again 


THE  WAY  OF  BEAUTY 

BEAUTY  came  Celia's  way  to  be 
More  beautiful  by  far, 
As  night  advancing  on  the  sea, 
Is  lighted  by  a  star. 

Then  Celia  followed  beauty's  way 

More  beautiful  to  be, 
As  when  the  star,  before  the  day, 

Is  taken  by  the  sea. 


[290] 


Finding  Celia 


A  MASQUE  OF  LIFE  AND  DEATH 

A  HOODED  figure  followed  me, 
•L  ^-         Striking  a  terror  in  my  breast; 
Headlong  I  fled  from  him — 
No  good  was  in  his  quest. 

A  golden  figure  ran  from  me 
On  naked  feet  that  left  no  trace; 
Headlong  I  followed  her 
But  could  not  see  her  face — 

Until  she  turned  and,  while  I  stared 
As  at  the  coming  of  great  ships, 
The  hooded  figure  seized  his  time 
And  kissed  me  with  her  lips. 


[291  ] 


Grenstone  Again 


DURING  A  CHORALE  BY  CESAR  FRANCK 

IN  an  old  chamber  softly  lit 
We  heard  the  Chorale  played. 
And  where  you  sat,  an  exquisite 
Image  of  life  and  lover  of  it, 
Death  came  to  serenade. 

I  know  now,  Celia,  what  you  heard 

And  why  you  turned  and  smiled. 
It  was  the  white  wings  of  a  bird 
Offering  flight — and  you  were  stirred 
Like  an  adventurous  child. 

Death  sang:    "There  is  no  cause  for  fear, 

Uplift  your  countenance!" 
And  bade  me  be  your  cavalier, 
Called  me  to  march  and  shed  no  tear, 

Said,  "Sing  to  her  and  dance!" 

And  so  you  followed,  lured  and  led 

By  those  mysterious  wings. 
And  when  I  knew  that  you  were  dead, 
I  wept  .  .  .  But  now  I  sing  instead, 

As  a  true  lover  sings. 
[292] 


Finding  Cetia 


I  sing  of  you — "O,  take  her  deep, 

And  cherish  and  proclaim 
A  more  restoring  calm  than  sleep, 
And  bring  the  charge  to  all  who  weep 
To  glorify  her  name !" 

And  when  I  sing  of  you,  you  hear 

My  heart,  my  praise,  my  prayer, 
Which  formerly  were  never  clear 
As  now  they  are,  for  you  are  near 
Forever  everywhere. 


[293] 


Grenstone  Again 


SONGS  ASCENDING 

LOVE  has  been  sung  a  thousand  ways- 
So  let  it  be  ... 

The  songs,  ascending  in  your  praise 
Through  all  my  days, 
Are  three. 

Your  cloud-white  body  first  I  sing: 
Your  love  was  heaven's  blue 

And  I,  a  bird,  flew  caroling 

In  ring  on  ring 
Of  you. 

Your  nearness  is  the  second  song: 

When  God  began  to  be 
And  bound  you  strongly,  right  or  wrong, 
With  his  own  thong, 

To  me. 

But  O,  the  song,  eternal,  high, 

That  tops  these  two! — 
You  live  forever,  you  who  die, 
I  am  not  I 

But  you. 

[  294] 


Finding  Celia 


A  PRAYER 

I  SAID  a  prayer  to  God 
When  I  had  need, 
And  I  saw  His  great  head  nod, 
Hearing  me  plead. 

I  thought  He  answered  me, 
I  knelt  and  wept  .  .  . 

God  did  not  even  see, 
He  only  slept. 

But  I  no  longer  care 

Whether  He  saw — 
I  have  answered  my  own  prayer 

With  God's  own  awe. 

Finding  that  I  may  be 

Mighty  and  nod 
At  my  own  destiny, 

I  sleep  like  God. 

[295] 


VIL     AN  END  AND  A  BEGINNING 


Creator  and  created,  God  shall  be 
Born   forevermore — of  her  and  me. 


H 


An  End  and 
a  Beginning 


HOW  CAN  I  KNOW  YOU  ALL? 

OW  can  I  know  you  all,  you  who  are  pass 
ing? 

You  in  the  crowds,  moving  so  many  ways. 
You  hundreds  and  you  tens,  even  you  twos  and 

threes, 

How  can  I  hope  to  know  you? 
On  your  faces  I  have  looked  and  I  have  seen  each 

time 

Tokens  of  kinship, 
Patents  like  mine  of  joy 

And  signs  like  mine  of  proud  and  piteous  need, 
Of  pain,  of  knowledge  and  of  reparation. 
I  have  heard  hidden  in  your  voices  every  synonym 

of  love. 

But  O  you  many  faces  known  to  me  far-off 
And  strange  to  me  when  you  are  near, 
How  shall  I  know  you  whom  I  need  to  know, 
Discovering  your  splendid  lonely  souls 
And  mating  them  with  mine? — 
[299] 


Grenstone  Again 

Out  from  among  you  comes  a  voice  in  answer 

"How  can  you  know 

Him  whom  you  will  not  know? 

We  are  yourself." 


[300] 


An  End  and 
a  Beginning 


FOR  I  AM  NOTHING  IF  I  AM  NOT  ALL 

I  GO  elate  along  the  street  and  care 
For  you,  for  you,  for  every  one  I  meet, 
Not  only  for  the  favored  and  the  fair 

Along  the  street 
But  every  soul  .  .   .  you  for  your  lips,  and 

you 

For  the  serene  compassion  of  your  brow 
Curved  like  a  hillside  looking  on  a  view, 

You  for  a  glow 

Within  your  eyes  of  sunset  after  rain, 
You  for  inheritance  withheld,  foregone, 
For  passion,  melancholy,  vigil,  pain: 
O  everyone ! 


For  I  am  nothing  if  I  am  not  all, 
For  I  am  he  who  loves  and  cannot  cease 
Till  every  separating  barrier  fall 
And  there  is  peace. 
[301  ] 


Grenstone  Again 

Spring  urges  me  to  comprehend  the  crowd. 
And  I  would  take  them  in  my  arms  and  hold 
Their  sweetness  close  to  me.     My  head  is 
bowed, 

Lest  I  be  bold 

And  claim  the  nearest-comer,  and  my  sight 
Is  blinded  with  the  touch  of  destiny. 
For,  Celia,  people,  people,  by  your  light 

Are  parts  of  me — 
And  that  is  why  I  quiver  now  to  greet 
Them  passing,  though  they  know  not  we  are 

one, 
And  that  is  why  this  bright  confusing  street 

Shines  in  the  sun. 


[302] 


An  End  and 
a  Beginning 


OPEN  HOUSE 

I  HAD  built  my  being  stone  by  stone, 
With  windows  and  with  doors  .  . 
And  there  came  a  jealous  company 

By  twos  and  tens  and  scores, 
Seeming  to  claim  my  house  from  me, 

And  traversed  all  the  floors, 
As  a  house  they  had  a  right  to  own, 
Its  true  proprietors. 


And  so  I  heard  an  angry  tone, 
Another  answering  hoarse: 
"It  is  not  yours,"  said  one  to  me 

And  one  to  him,  "Nor  yours!" 
Then  each  to  each  (to  me  now  none) 

Cried  out,  in  scattered  scores, 
That  ill-acquainted  company, 

"Nor    yours!"    "Nor    yours!"    "Nor 
yours !" 

[303] 


Grenstone  Again 


I  took  my  being  stone  by  stone, 

Its  windows  and  its  doors, 
Took  it  apart  impartially, 

Roofs  and  walls  and  floors, 
And  then  when  every  claim  was  gone 

Of  the  jealous  visitors, 
I  joined  my  being  wide  and  free : 

Their  house  and  mine — and  yours ! 


An  End  and 
a  Beginning 


CONSUMMATION 

THERE  was  a  strangeness  on  her  lips, 
Lips  that  had  been  so  sure; 
She  still  was  mine  but  in  eclipse, 
Beside  me  but  obscure. 

There  was  a  cloud  upon  her  heart; 

For,  where  my  Celia  lay, 
Death,  come  to  break  her  life  apart, 

Had  led  her  love  away. 

Through  the  cold  distance  of  her  eyes 

She  could  no  longer  see. 
But  when  she  died,  she  heard  me  rise 

And  followed  quietly — 

And  close  beside  me,  looking  down 

As  I  did  on  the  dead, 
She  made  of  time  a  wedding-gown, 

Of  space  a  marriage-bed. 

[305] 


Grenstone  Again 

I  took,  in  her,  death  for  a  wife, 
She  married  death  in  me  .  .  , 

And  now  there  is  no  other  life, 
No  other  God  than  we  I 


[306] 


An  End  and 
a  Beginning 


BEHOLD  THE  MAN 

BEHOLD  the  man  alive  in  me, 
Behold  the  man  in  you  I 
If  there  is  God — am  I  not  he? — 
Shall  I  myself  undo? 

I  have  been  waiting  long  enough  .  .  . 
Impossible  gods,  good-by! 

I  wait  no  more  .  .  .  The  way  is  rough- 
But  the  god  who  climbs  is  I. 


[307] 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  LOS  ANGELES 

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